Lost
by praire-schooner
Summary: Multichapter fanfic story based off the 1960's TV Series the Rifleman about a widowed father, Lucas McCain, trying to raise his son, Mark, in 1880's New Mexico Territory. Lucas must hunt down a band of outlaws to retrieve his son. Finally finished!
1. Prologue

This is a fanfiction novel based on the popular classic TV Western series "The Rifleman" about a widowed father, Lucas McCain (Chuck Connors) trying to raise his son Mark (Johnny Crawford), in the 1880's New Mexico Territory.

This was one of my favorite shows and I thought it would be fun to try and write a novel depicting the characters as closely to the series as possible. This is my first attempt of writing a novel and I would appreciate the feedback, but please be kind to this shy closet writer, lol.

Hope you enjoy it!

(Chapters reposted after correcting many boo boos. Sorry everyone, I'm a lousy proofreader!)

**Prologue: Salt Creek, Texas**

Several weeks earlier:

The late afternoon sun had already begun to cut long deep shadows across the wide dirt track street as the two men slowly rode into the quiet little town of Salt Creek, Texas. Against the flickering glare of fading orange their features appeared in silhouette as they passed by the dozen or so crudely built wooden structures lined up on either side. Though strangers were not an unusual site in the small cattle town which bordered along the edge of New Mexico Territory, their arrival nevertheless drew interest from several of the town's locals.

With collars turned up against the cool breeze of late Spring, it was how their coat flaps remained flipped open to the sides exposing the nickel plated hardware and their posture in saddle that caused the curiosity. For these men were not the usual cow traps, gamblers or even the occasional wayward western traveler that often passed through Salt Creek. They were a different breed. They were gunslingers.

The older of the two rode slightly ahead of his younger companion. Slouched casually back in the saddle and holding the reins of his horse loosely it appeared as if he were indifferent to the stares. But to the more experienced, his eyes were keenly focused, alert to any shift or unusual movement. His gaze shifted past the gilded lettering above the shops which advertised the basic of needs: a general store, a feed & grain, a gun shop & leathery, a café/hotel, and a tent laundry, pausing only briefly at the sheriff's office before finally settling on the building at the far end of the street.

The second rider, who was on the closer side of a teenager than a man, sat straighter in the saddle and, wearing the brim on his hat low to conceal his eyes, silently watched the reactions of the town people as they passed. A shopkeeper momentarily halted his sweeping; a woman with a youngin' waiting next to a buckboard wagon loaded with supplies tugged her child a little closer to her apron skirt; two men along the boardwalk slowed their pace to a cautious step. The young gun had seen it before. It was always the same whenever they entered a town: respect underlined by nervous curiosity. He understood their reaction and rightly so.

A short distance from the saloon, they came to a halt. Dismounting, a gust of devil wind blew a cloud of dust up from the street then circled passed them as if in greeting, or perhaps warning, as they tethered the lathered horses to a sagging hitching post near a watering trough. Their boots thumped heavily against the worn wooden planks of the raised boardwalk as they made their way towards the saloon.

At the far end of the musty, dimly lit room, stood a crudely built bar held up on each end and in the middle by large wooden rain barrels. A middle-aged bartender with bushy eyebrows and thinning hair stood behind the table drying some glasses. Since evening had not quite settled in, apart from the bartender only a small group was present inside: a young saloon girl named Mavis, a tinhorn gambler and an old prospector who at the moment lay slumped over a table with an empty bottle of whiskey tipped on its side.

The gambler, who went by the name of Kentucky Jack, sat at an empty table across the room waiting for the locals to start filtering in. Though a deck of cards was spread out before him in a game of solitaire, the gambler found it more entertaining to people watch and at the moment his interest was directed at the young saloon girl perched on the edge of a barstool trying to ignore the look of disapproval coming from the barkeeper.

"I'm telling you for your own good stay away from that Clayton fellow Mavis," he heard the bartender say.

The young pretty brunette gave the bartender a sour look. "Thanks for the advice Sid but in case you haven't noticed, I am a full grown woman capable of making my own decisions."

The bartender's snort made Mavis roll her eyes dramatically.

"Well I am! Honestly sometimes your worse that my old man ever was," she said exasperatedly.

The barkeeper's bushy eyebrows came down into a straight line. "He's just looking for a little fun, honey. I wouldn't put too much stock into any of those promises he's been making lately."

"Not that it's any of your business but Cole's not like that!" Mavis declared emphatically.

The bartender sighed. "Oh, I ain't saying he doesn't have a few feelings for you, but his daddy owns the biggest spread around these parts not to mention half the town and he's got bigger plans for that boy than…." He let the rest of his sentence drop.

"Than what Sid? Someone like me?" But Sid's lack of response was answer enough. Defiantly she crossed her arms for she'd had this conversation with the over-protective bar keeper before. "Well don't you worry none. I can take care of myself!" She turned away from the bartender. Sid sighed at went back to drying more glasses as a stiff silence hung in the air.

So when the swinging doors of the Lucky Seven suddenly swung opened, everyone, with the exception of the boozed out prospector, looked up with interest as the newcomers entered.

Pausing briefly just inside the dim interior, the stranger walked with measured steps across the room while his younger companion held back, choosing to linger near the door, one hand resting loosely at the hip just above the exposed gun belt. The movement did not go unnoticed by the experienced eye of the bartender.

Nevertheless, he greeted the stranger as he stepped up to the bar. "Welcome to the Lucky Seven. What can I get ya, mister?"

"Whiskey."

"Comin' right up."

Retrieving a bottle from under the counter, Sid poured a measure of amber liquid into a glass. But as he went to put the bottle away, the stranger placed his hand over the top.

"Leave it."

Glancing up, Sid replied. "Whole bottle will cost ya three dollars, mister."

Digging into his vest pocket, the man flipped several coins onto the counter. Satisfied, the bartender released the bottle without argument and went back to his task of drying glasses.

The clink of silver on the counter seemed to catch the young saloon girl's interest or perhaps she was still a little piqued at the over-protective bartender's assessment of her prospects. Either way, she scooted off the stool and sashayed across to the end of the bar where the stranger was propped against the counter. Sid's warning glance to watch herself with this one, only managed to illicit a defiant smile.

With a rogue painted face and crimson lips she leaned against the bar. Wearing a black lacy dress with red satin beneath and a large boa feather in her dark hair, she let the thin shawl wrap slip off one shoulder exposing the creamy white flesh while resting her brightly painted fingers lightly on her corset tightened waist.

Wetting her lips, she smiled coyly. "Say mister, that drink looks mighty fine. How 'bout sharin' one with a lady?"

As the stranger swiveled his head to the side, Mavis caught site of a pair of steely gray eyes regarding her intently. Several seconds seem to pass before he nodded indifferently.

Silently, Sid produced another glass for the girl though his bushy eyebrows now seemed to form one straight disapproving line.

Ignoring the bartender, Mavis gripped the drink and sipped on it slowly. She tipped her glass towards the stranger and smiled. "Appreciate the drink, mister."

"Anything for a _lady_," the stranger mockingly drawled sliding his gaze from the low cut of her dress then slowly moving back up to eye level. Mavis' smile faltered slightly. For despite her age the girl, like the dress, already had begun to show signs of wear. Once youthful, her face now bore fine crow's lines at the corners when she smiled, a reminder of the harshness faced to a single woman without many prospects in the western frontier.

"Sure a chilly day out there today," she attempted small talk, but the stranger continued to sip his drink in silence. "You're not from around here. Just passing through?"

"You could say that," he replied coolly.

Beneath several days' growth of whiskers, his features appeared sharply chiseled and may have even been considered handsome if not for the steel grey eyes which continued to bore down at her.

"I'm Mavis," she finally said when the stranger made no more effort to carry on the conversation. She ran her fingertips along the lace trim of her dress. Unfortunately the movement appeared more nervous than seductive making the stranger's mouth curl with slight amusement. Despite Sid's position only a couple yards away, Mavis' earlier bravado appeared to falter slightly.

Breaking eye contact, she looked towards the swinging doors where his lanky companion was still positioned and asked, "What about your friend? He planning on holding up the door all night?"

He shrugged indifferently. "If he has a mind to."

Then quite suddenly the stranger leaned in close. The movement was so unexpected that Mavis found herself backed up against the bar. She felt the stranger's warm breath, with its lingering aroma of tobacco mixed with whiskey, fanning her cheek. But it was those steely orbs only inches away that kept her frozen. They seemed to penetrate like the blade of a sharp precision knife and the sudden shiver that went up the lace strappings of her dress had nothing to do with the chill from a cold afternoon.

Sid, sensing trouble, glanced down at the sawed off shot gun within easy reach under the bar. But instead of grabbing Mavis as half expected, the stranger simply stretched his arm around her and retrieved another glass from the tray Sid had been drying.

Showing it to her, he smiled wickedly at her reaction, tipped his hat, then gathered the bottle and glasses and moved to the other side of the room.

On the other end of the saloon, Kentucky Jack quietly watched the exchange. A gambler by trade, he had made a fair living by reading people well and found the strangers to be a curious pair. The older of the two was clearly in charge, his manner cool but authoritative. He was tall, lean and hard, in more ways than one. The gambler had seen the likes of him before and knew such men should be handled with care.

The younger man, who had still not left his post, was almost as tall but lankier not having quite grown into himself. His attention seemed to shift back and forth between his companion and the empty street outside, his hand never far from the pistol holstered at his side. Though he had a cocky appearance which tried to mirror his partner, he was edgier, like a colt not quite broken in.

Wondering to what purpose the two had in such a dust bowl of a town as Salt Creek and with his luck having run cold recently, the gambler tapped the deck of cards to the table hoping to draw the attention of the man for a game. But the stranger ignored him and opted to settle at one of the tables on the other side of the room well away from those that would have a mind to stretch an ear.

With his back to the wall and his eyes on the swinging doors, he pulled off the black leather gloves and slapped them on the table. Grabbing the bottle, he refilled his glass and jerked his head towards his partner.

The young gun settled in a chair across from him. The stranger gulped the whiskey down without so much as a flinch then slid another glass across the table. Picking the amber liquid up, the young gun tried to do the same but ended up choking as the rock gut burned his throat. The stranger's bemused laugh caused him to shift edgily in his seat. Finishing a second shot, the man then tipped his chair back so it was propped against the wall, lifted his boots atop the arm of the chair next to him and placed his hat over his face. He crossed his arms loosely and appeared content to settle in for a spell.

At the table the young gun sat with slumped shoulders as he impatiently rolled the rim of the shot glass around in hands. They'd ridden hard for the last several days and despite his weariness he was antsy.

After what seemed like a considerable time had passed, he leaned in and asked in a voice that didn't carry across the room, "How much longer Lloyd?"

A heavy silence followed. Beneath the black felt hat came the cool reply. "Till I say."

This didn't seem to set well with the young gun who seemed to have as much difficulty sitting still in his seat as the stranger had in ease. He let out an impatient sigh.

The stranger tipped his hat back enough to reveal the grey dark eyes which lately had an underlying edge of impatience and something else. "Something wrong?"

Looking to the swinging doors he shrugged then went back to rolling his shot glass around impatiently. "Just itching to get on with it that's all, I guess."

"You know that's your problem, kid. You're always in too much in a hurry," Lloyd berated. "It'll get you killed before your time."

The young gun bristled. "I can take care of myself!" he stubbornly insisted. Though he was nearly seventeen he'd already been on his own for some time even before he decided to join up with Lloyd. And although he could easily outdraw most men he was still often thought of as just a kid.

Reading his, Lloyd snorted. "A fast draw isn't the only thing that will keep you alive boy. You still got a hell of a lot to learn, e_specially_ when it comes to following orders."

The young gun shifted uncomfortably in his seat. By the gruffness in his tone, he knew Lloyd was still annoyed by the latest stunt he pulled.

"I knew I should have had Duke and Elliot hog tie you to your horse and drag your butt up with them."

Almost a week earlier, Lloyd and his men had been in a jovial mood celebrating their latest successful heist and escape. But that had changed when a messenger rode hard into their camp. He didn't know what was said, but almost instantly Lloyd's mood had changed and the young gun sensed something big was up. Later that night Lloyd and the two Craxton brothers, Duke and Elliot, had gotten into a heated argument over Lloyd's sudden decision to change their plans. Originally they were going to head up north. After the success of several jobs had begun to generate a little too much heat with the local law, the gang had decided it was time to move on. Duke and Elliot had family up in Taos they were eager to see and where they also knew they could lay low for a while. But Lloyd's sudden announcement to head south into Texas created a rift.

With hefty bounties on their heads already, and their faces too well know in Texas, the Craxton brothers didn't to want take the risk. Though Duke had tried to talk Lloyd out of it, he'd remained adamant. Unable to reach a compromise, they eventually decided to split up. Ordering the young gun to go with them, Lloyd told his men he'd meet them up north later after he finished his business in Texas.

But the young gun had other plans. Early the next morning Lloyd had set off alone. Defiantly, the young gun had followed, tailing Lloyd for almost two days before the outlaw had doubled back, cornered him, and had nearly blown his head off in the process. But by then it had been too late to turn back and Lloyd was reluctantly forced into bringing him along.

"We've been through all this before, Lloyd. I'm sticking with you. Besides you might need help."

His choice of words seemed to bring about a reaction in Lloyd that was far less reassuring than the young gun had hoped for. Bringing his chair down on all fours, once again the young gun felt the weight of Lloyd's displeasure.

Across the table, he regarded his young protégé intensely. Though perhaps Lloyd had given him more leniency than he usually bestowed on the rest of his men, after several weeks his patience was beginning to wane.

The steel eyes narrowed in sharp focus. "Then you better see to it that you do exactly as you're told. This isn't a game kid and I want no more mistakes like the one in El Paso understand?" Lloyd warned ominously.

The young gun's gaze dropped to his glass. El Paso was still a pretty sore point between them. It had been the first time he'd experienced Lloyd's wrath personally and was not eager to repeat the experience. Nevertheless he was determined to prove his worth.

"You can count on me," he re-assured firmly.

Lloyd poured himself another measure of whiskey, but his features remained hard and less than convinced.

A short while later a third man entered the saloon, his age somewhere between the first two men. Also packing, his holster riding low on narrow hips, he walked over and stood before them holding his hands in front of him, thumbs hooked easily into his gun belt. Though it had been some time the young gun recognized him immediately.

"Hey Briggs," he said a little sheepishly.

Briggs' eyes narrowed as if surprised to see him. "Is that who I think it is?"

"In the flesh," Lloyd muttered sternly.

Briggs threw Lloyd a confused look

Lloyd turned to the young gun. "Get lost for a while, kid. Briggs and I need to talk."

"But..." he started to protest but was stopped in mid-sentence.

"Do as I say, now." Lloyd didn't raise his voice, but the tone spoke of no argument.

The young gun's lips thinned into a stubborn angry line but, nevertheless got up and left without another word knowing he was already on thin ice as it was with the outlaw leader. Briggs watched him go, then swung the seat just vacated around and straddled it. He poured himself a shot to wet down his parched throat.

He shook his head. "Kid's strung tighter than rawhide strapped to a fence post."

"And your point?"

He shrugged. "Just surprised you'd bring him along that's all."

"I didn't." Lloyd went on to explain the circumstances for this young gun's presence.

Briggs couldn't help but chuckle slightly. "Yeah, that sounds just like the kid. Never did have an ounce of sense." Cocking his head to the side he noticed the bartender throwing them a curious sideways glance. His smile faded and once again grew serious. "I don't know Lloyd. You sure can trust him? I mean this job ain't like the others you know."

Lloyd looked hard at Briggs, eyes narrowing.

"You got something to say spit it out."

"I've known you a long time, long enough to know the score. But the kid?"

"Go on."

Briggs looked directly at him. "He's young and cocky and maybe out to prove himself, especially to you, but he's still got somethin' you and I lost a long time ago, my friend."

"And what would that be?"

"A conscience."

The outlaw leader nodded grimly. For the most part, ever since the kid had hooked up with them, Lloyd had deliberately kept him out of the main action despite his eagerness to be more involved. In this business Lloyd couldn't afford mistakes, especially from a cocky teenager that sometimes had more thickheaded stubbornness than common sense. Instead he'd used him primarily as a lookout. And so far they'd been damn lucky. Except for El Paso, most jobs had gone off without a hitch.

But as Briggs had said, this wasn't like any other job and Lloyd still wasn't convinced the kid had the stomach to travel down the same road Lloyd had been on for the last fifteen years. Perhaps it was time enough they both came to an understanding.

"Well, I guess it's about time we rectified that, don't you think?"

Briggs regarded him darkly but knew better than to argue the point.

Getting back to matters at hand, Lloyd asked, "So, what did you find out?"

After taking another sip of whiskey, Briggs filled him in. "Wagon stopped about five miles out of town, near the old way station but looks like it's heading into town under escort."

Lloyd frowned. The fact that they were changing their route didn't set well.

"Why, what's up?"

"Not sure, but probably not good. All I know is they sent someone out from the station and a little while later the sheriff rode up with a couple of men."

"How many?"

"Three, plus the two men on the wagon."

Lloyd muttered under his breath. If that good for nothing piece of hog flesh blew it, Lloyd would string him up to a tree himself.

"Where's Smitty?"

"Trailing them back into town. I rode up ahead through a back trail." Briggs looked at him squarely. "Are we gonna do the job here?"

Lloyd shook his head. The last thing he wanted to do was draw unnecessary attention.

"No we'll wait, least until we find out what the hell's going on. Take the kid with you and make sure you stay out of sight."

Briggs nodded, rose and left.

Casey the piano player wandered downstairs and took position behind the ivory keys as darkness began to fall. Soon the saloon was filled with lively ivory tunes with the hopes of enticing the locals to come in.

The young gun, who had been leaning against the hitching post outside, straightened up as Briggs approached. Though still annoyed at being brushed aside he couldn't help but avert his eyes at Briggs' look of disapproval.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Guess Lloyd filled you in, huh?"

Briggs nodded grimly. "You've pulled some stupid stunts in the past kid, but this takes the cake! You should have gone up north!"

But the boy's stubbornness returned. "I already told Lloyd I'm not leaving so no sense for you to try and talk me out of it either. Whatever Lloyd's got planned he's going to need some help."

Briggs sighed and shook his head. "This isn't the place for you, boy. Not this time."

The young gun's temper flared. "I wish everyone would quit treating me like I'm some baby that needs watching!"

Briggs scoffed. "Then maybe you should start acting like one." Briggs sighed. "This ain't no life for you kid. It will make you old or dead before your time."

"I've been on my own since before I was fifteen. I can take care of myself!"

Briggs crossed his arms. "Geez, you're as stubborn and thickheaded as ever aren't ya?"

When the young gun reared his head defiantly back Briggs could see the pointlessness in arguing further and besides they had work to do. Maybe Lloyd was right. Maybe it was time the kid understood what Lloyd was really about. But the thought brought him little pleasure.

"All right kid, as long as you know the score. But I'm warning you right now. Don't mess with Lloyd. This isn't the time or the place for screw ups."

From the shadows across the street Briggs saw movement. A dark figure was waving them over. Briggs nodded. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" the young gun asked curiously.

"Just shut up and keep out of sight!"

They crossed the street, avoiding the lantern lit walkways as much as possible and joined up with the third man. Briggs briefly introduced him as Smitty. The two followed the man down the street until they came to a dark alleyway.

Motioning the young gun to position himself at the entrance of the alley, Briggs and Smitty headed towards the back of the two story wooden building before the young gun could protest. Fuming, he was forced to remain at his post watching guard over an empty street, once again feeling left out of the action.

Back in the saloon, seeing the stranger was now alone, Kentucky Jack walked over to his table shuffling the deck on cards with one hard. Dressed neatly in a pin stripped coat and white ruffled shirt, he flashed a pearly white smile.

"How 'bout a game mister? I'm feeling kinda lucky tonight."

The stranger looked up from his drink and indifferently offered the man a seat.

Once settled Kentucky Jack motioned for Mavis. She walked over and placed her hand on his shoulder. Looking up he gave her a bright friendly smile.

"Honey, how 'bout fixin' me a sandwich?"

"Sure Jack." She glanced a little uncertainly at the stranger. "How 'bout you mister? We ain't got the selection of the café but we do have beefsteak sandwiches."

He shrugged. "Why not, _mame_?"

Mavis met his stare and hurriedly departed.

"Never seen Mavis so skittish," Kentucky Jack chuckled as he shuffled the deck. He pulled out a cigar and lit it slowly. "Jacks Wild okay with you?"

The stranger merely waved his hand in agreement.

The gambler dealt the hand. "So what brings you to this fair little town? Business or pleasure?" He asked clinching the cigar lightly in his teeth.

The stranger seemed in no rush to answer. "Perhaps a little of both. I suppose you could say I'm meeting an old friend."

With one arched brow, Kentucky Jack probed a little more. "Oh? Seems an odd little place to meet, this being such a quiet little town."

"I happen to like quiet little towns, especially when they don't ask a lot of questions."

The gambler raised his hands off the table. "Didn't mean to step on any toes. I'll say no more friend."

The two played for a while, the gambler unable to read much from the aloof stranger. Mavis brought the sandwiches and refreshed their drinks, pouring one for herself. Kentucky Jack kept the conversation flowing lightly, but whenever it steered too far into the stranger's business, he was stonewalled.

Slowly as the evening set in, one by one some of the locals wandered in. A few joined the card game and Kentucky Jack wasn't able to learn anything more.

Down the street, a prison wagon stood outside the back of Snivley & Sons Undertaking. It was quarter past nine. The only source of light in the otherwise dark alley came from the door left ajar. Inside stretched out on a table the soles of a pair of black boots could be seen.

In the background, the faint sound of Casey's piano could be heard drifting out from the saloon just down the street as two dark figures concealed themselves behind several wooden crates in the alley. Near the back door the sheriff stood talking to one of the guards. "All right tell me what happened again."

"We already explained," the guard said annoyingly.

"Just like to make sure I have all the facts straight for my report, so amuse me," the sheriff replied.

Briggs and Smitty listened as the guard went over the details again.

They had been transporting two condemned felons from Galveston back to Fort Sumner for hanging when a fight broke out in back of the locked cell. By the time the guards had managed to unlock the iron door one man lay dead, his neck snapped and laying at an odd angle. Still in chains, the other man was dragged out but not without some difficulty. He'd finally been subdued only after a rifle butt had been put up to the side of his head. But the guard's partner hadn't come off unscathed from the scuffle having received a broken arm and a gash in the forehead for the effort.

But as part of their policy, they were required to notify the local authorities and get the necessary paper work filled out on the body they were leaving behind for their superiors.

The local undertaker came out of the back office followed by the second guard, his arm now in a sling and his head bandaged. With the nearest medical doctor almost fifty miles away, the undertaker sometimes had to fill in as the town's unofficial saw-bones.

"Well that will get you at least to Raulings but I doubt that arm's gonna be of much use for a while."

"Thanks doc," the guard said as he struggled up into the wagon.

Both guards were in a foul mood, knowing that would have much to explain when they reached their final destination.

Sheriff Walt O'Malley stood outside the back door, shotgun in hand, having escorted the prison wagon back into town. A portly man with a handlebar mustache, he was eager to see them on their way disliking everything about the whole nasty set-up and the two guards in particular.

But beyond getting the required information he had little authority in this matter. Once satisfied, the sheriff agreed to let them continue on their way but told them he'd wire the sheriff over in Raulings to meet them and help escort them the rest of the way into Fort Sumner.

"You sure you are gonna be all right until then?" he asked, glancing at the injured guard then at the back of the prison wagon with distain. The guards nodded. From the back he could hear the prisoner groaning as he came to. "What about him?" The sheriff asked.

The guard holding the reins glanced briefly back, a wicked smug smile crossing over his craggy face. The two guards would be glad to be rid of the condemned man. From the start he'd been more than a handful and both were getting tired of listening to the paranoid rantings and threats over the last several days.

"He's not going anywhere. He won't be giving us anymore trouble."

"Very well," the sheriff said sourly, despising the two guards as much as the situation that had brought the prison wagon into town in the first place.

From the back chains rattled and a crazed angry voice shouted. "You lousy pigs! Just you wait, when I get out of here you're both dead meat, ya hear!"

The guard pounded the side of the prison wagon. "Quiet down back there unless you want this rifle upside your head again!"

"You're gonna pay! Nobody lays a hand on me and gets away with it!"

"You're the one who'll be paying, stretched out on the end of a rope!" The other guard hissed.

The prisoner pounded the walls of the wagon as the driver set the team in motion.

The sheriff watched the wagon head out of town wondering what kind of men could possible want a job like that. But by the appearance of the two guards, he knew his answer. When they were out of sight, he gave a sigh of relief. He hated the sight of those things. They were usually nothing but trouble.

Down the alley, the two figures crouched in the shadows quietly retreated as the wagon pulled away.

Once regrouped, Briggs led Smitty and the young gun almost completely out of town.

"Where are we going now?" the young gun asked.

"You'll see"

Briggs cut between two buildings and across a field full of tall grass before stopping. Taking a pocket knife out he motioned the young gun to give him a boost. Briggs climbed to the top and cut the telegraph wires leading into town before shimming back down.

A short time later Briggs returned to the saloon and nodded over at Lloyd before retreating back outside. Finishing his hand, he picked his winnings, tipped his hat to Mavis and quietly left without a word.

As the men left, Sid who had been wiping down the counter, stepped over to the swinging doors and watched as the three men mounted up, turn their horses about and head out of town. Once out of sight, he walked over to the gambler's table.

"What's going on?" Mavis asked.

"Nothin'. They're riding out."

"What do you think they're up to?"

"Not sure." Sid replied.

Mavis looked towards the doors. "Well, I'm not sorry to see them go. That tall one gave me the creeps."

"You did seem a might skittish Mavis honey," the gambler replied.

"You would be too if you looked into those cold eyes. Maybe we should let Walt know."

"And tell him what?" Sid asked "They haven't done anything. Besides they left town anyways. Most likely they're just passing through."

Kentucky Jack shook his head. "I don't know."

"Why? What ya find out?" Sid asked the gambler.

The gambler shrugged "Not much. He's got a pretty good poker face. Said he was just meeting his friend."

"Well I think you should still tell Walt," Mavis insisted.

"Well, Walt ought to be back any time," Sid informed them. "Said he had to take care of some business but that was quite a while ago. I'll mention it to him when he gets back."

Just then four men entered. They were regulars, wranglers from the Triple T. Mavis' eyes suddenly brightened as she spotted the familiar tall dark haired man. As she rushed over to his side Kentucky Jack didn't miss the extremely sour looked that crossed the barkeeper's face.

"Mavis, honey! How's my favorite girl?" the wrangler said scooping the saloon girl up and spinning her around.

Mavis laughed. "Just fine Cole, now that you're here," she said a little breathlessly, her eyes sparkling with delight. "But I haven't seen you in a nearly a month!" she pouted.

He let her down, but held her lightly by the waist. This was one wrangler Mavis didn't mind in the least holding her. A slight blush appeared on her face.

The wrangler smiled down at her and gave her a quick kiss followed by a pat on the rump. "Sorry honey but my old man's been keeping me busy repairing fence line and trying to round up every stupid stray up in these hills! But I'm here now and the boys and I intend to have a little fun. So how about wiping that pout off your face and fixing up a round for me and the boys? It's cold out there and I'm in the mood to be warmed up."

"You got it!" Mavis said.

Almost immediately two of the cowhands saddled up to Kentucky Jack's table. With fresh fruit for the pickings, the gambler's smile widened.

As the hour grew later, more men entered the saloon. Casey kept the place lively with music and as the whiskey flowed, the voices rose. Soon Sid, Mavis and Kentucky Jack forgot about the strangers.

After Walt finished up at the undertaker's, he set off to make his remaining rounds hoping the rest of his night would be better. But it wasn't to be his luck. Half way through he heard the crash of glass and turned to see two men careen through the front window of the Lucky Seven. Sid immediately erupted from the saloon with shotgun in hand cursing loudly with Mavis quickly in pursuit. Cole, obviously drunk, had Kentucky Jack by the collar and leveled an upper cut to his jaw sending the gambler reeling into the nearby watering trough. Several cowboys emerged from the saloon cheering him on as Cole accused the gambler of cheating at cards. The sheriff arrived in the middle of the commotion just as Mavis tried to keep Sid from leveling the shotgun at her handsome wrangler.

For the next several hours Walt had his hands full dealing with several drunken cowboys and an unconscious gambler while at the same time trying to calm the livid bartender down about the cost of a broken plate glass window, not to mention several chairs and a half dozen bottles of good red eye. It was to be a long night.

Four miles outside of Salt Creek, concealed behind a grove of trees, the group of men on horseback watched as the prison wagon lumbered by. The moon was nearly full and cast the wagon in a shadowy silhouette. The riders let it pass and move ahead some distance before following slowly behind. Once it rounded a bend and entered more hilly terrain, the riders turned off the road and cut across open country until they joined up with the road again, this time ahead of the wagon.

Lloyd motioned his men to take their positions.

The two guards never had a chance. Out of the darkness the wagon was immediately surrounded by the four men on horseback taking the guards completely by surprise. It a reckless move the injured guard riding shotgun awkwardly attempted to raise his rifle only to receive a bullet in his chest for the effort. He slumped motionless in his seat as the single shot echoed loudly into the quiet darkness.

Smoke drifted from the piece Briggs held in his hand. As the young gun moved in from the side he glanced from the dead man quickly over at Briggs.

The steely eyed outlaw threw Briggs a sharp look before approaching the remaining guard who quickly dropped the reins and raised his hands in the air. Lloyd leveled his pistol calmly at the man's chest.

"Get down," he ordered.

Scrambling out off the wagon, the guard nearly missed his footing as he eyed the group of men nervously. Lloyd walked over and stood before the shaken guard. He motioned to the locked cell door with a wave of his pistol.

"Now open it up," he directed.

"I can't do that."

The driver heard the hammer being cocked and cringed.

"Unless you want to end up like your friend over there, I'd advise you to cooperate. I don't like to ask twice."

Next to Lloyd the young gun felt the adrenaline starting to rush through his veins. For despite Briggs' apparent hasty maneuver, Lloyd had once more taken the situation over smoothly.

With his eyes staring straight down the barrel of Lloyd's gun the guard had little choice but to comply. He put up a trembling hand. "All right…..just please don't shoot."

Briggs escorted the guard to the back of the wagon. With shaky fingers, he unlocked the large metal lock and the iron door squeaked open.

A large heavy set man in chains was inside. His hair was matted wildly about with dried blood plastered to the side of his face; his right cheek was swollen and bruised. Sagging jowls were covered in dark stubble and his eyes were round and kinda bulged out from the sockets giving him a crazed look.

As he climbed out he said, "'Bout time you showed up!"

"Nice to see you too Roark," Lloyd mocked staring at the over-weight sorry example of a man.

"Thought maybe you'd forgotten about me," Roark jeered contemptuously back. The convict was in a fool mood showing little gratitude for his freedom.

"Hardly," Lloyd drawled. "In case you've forgotten, we still have some unfinished business."

Roark threw him a hard menacing look. "I haven't forgotten a thing, especially the last five years I spent in that army stink hole."

"For your own stupidity," Lloyd replied calmly. "And just to set the record straight the only reason I'm even bothering with your sorry ass is to get what's due me."

Roark looked down at the dead guard and shook his head, laughing without humor. "And what if I said I don't have it anymore, that it's probably long gone?"

"Then I suppose I'll just put a bullet in your head right now and save the law the cost of a rope."

The convict chuckled. "See you haven't changed much." Roark scratched his stubbled cheek as if trying to weigh his options then winced as his fingers moved over the swollen welt on his cheek. Tilting his head he looked at Lloyd through the narrow pudgy slit of one eye. "And just suppose I do happen to know where it is? What's my guarantee that if I tell you, you're not going to plug me anyway?"

Lloyd stepped closer. "Guess you just going to have to trust me, _partner_," he said with a certain amount of sarcasm that made the convict frown back.

"Well, why don't you just get these damn chains off me and maybe we'll talk some business."

"Oh they'll be no maybe about it my fat friend, I guarantee that," Lloyd replied hardly. "Five years ago we had a deal, and now it's time to pay up, one way or the other." Roark shot Lloyd a dark look.

The outlaw leader directed the young gun standing on the sidelines to retrieve the keys for the shackles off the dead guard. As he climbed up into the wagon and patted the man down, he tried to avert his eyes from the lifeless face staring back at him.

While they waited Roark glanced over at Lloyd's right hand man. "Nice seein' you again Briggs," he said sarcastically.

Briggs tipped his hat briefly with the barrel of his pistol. There seemed to be no love loss between these two men either.

As the shackles were released, Roark looked curiously at the newest lanky member of the outlaw gang. Tossing the chains aside, he rubbed his raw wrists then jerked his head towards Lloyd.

"Startin' them a little young, ain't ya?" he laughed sarcastically. The young gun bristled in agitation.

But Roark's attention had already shifted back to the remaining guard. A twisted smile crept across the pudgy swollen face as the guard shrank back against the slats of the wagon. With slow deliberation he approached the guard. Reaching out, he grabbed him by the shirt in a two-fisted iron grip.

"Now who's calling the shots, eh funny man?" he snarled menacingly nearly lifting the man off the ground.

The guard, seeing the wild look of pleasure in Roark's eyes, trembled.

"You should have finished me off back there when you had the chance, pig."

Meaty fingers wrapped around the man's throat and slowly started to squeeze. As the guard struggled to breath, Roark's smile grew wider. Five years of beatings and humiliation in that army stink hole. It was time to extract some payback.

The guard's face began to take on a mottle purple, his eyes frightened and pleading as he tried to pry the meaty fingers away from his throat. The young gun's weight shifted hesitantly.

Finally he heard Lloyd said, "Let him go, Roark."

But the convict, intent on extracting his revenge, ignored him. "Five years! Five years!" It was only when the feel of cold steel shoved into the back of Roark's neck that his grip loosened.

"I said let him go or I'll match that lump on you fat face with another to the back on the head," he said with deadly calmness. He didn't raise his voice, but instead emphasized his point by jabbing the barrel of the pistol a little further into the pudgy flesh.

Roark reluctantly released him, shoving the guard hard against the wagon. He gasped for air and sank to his knees as the convict swung around glaring viciously at Lloyd. "What's it to you? He's a walking dead man anyway!" he demanded through gritted teeth.

"I have my reasons," Lloyd replied slowly.

Roark snorted. "They better be good ones. No one pulls a gun on me and gets away with it. Not even you."

Lloyd cocked his head slightly to one side. "Would you prefer I stick you back in that wagon and leave you here? A few days in that metal box in the sun without food or water ought to fry your brain up real well. Or you may get lucky and the law will find you in plenty of time to put a rope around your neck."

Eyes piercing and cold, Lloyd remained almost casually poised as a stiff tension formed in the air. The young gun watched the exchange silently from the sidelines as Lloyd once again established the hierarchy in the group, letting the convict know who was to be in charge.

Finally Roark back down. "Whatever you say…. _for now_."

Lloyd just glared back at him before turning his attention to the terrified guard. "What's your name mister?" he asked almost casually as if nothing unusual had just occurred.

When the guard didn't answer right aware, Lloyd leveled the gun at his face.

"N…Nelson," he replied hoarsely, still gripping his sore throat.

"Nelson," Lloyd repeated slowly. "Now that wasn't so bad." He deliberately paused. "Do you want to live, Nelson?" he asked matter-of-factly.

The guard nodded nervously eyes darting from one man to the next.

Then almost as if having a conversation with an old friend, Lloyd asked, "Got any family, Nelson?"

"A…a wife and three kids," he stuttered in confusion and swallowed hard.

"Three kids, my, my, my." Lloyd nodded, impressed. "I imagine they keep their ma pretty busy."

"I guess." The guard's eyes continued to dart anxiously about.

Lloyd squatted down on his heels and waved the gun in the guard's face bringing the man eyes back to his attention.

The man paled and visibly trembled. "Please mister, I w…won't give ya any trouble, just don't shoot me."

Lloyd smiled pleasantly.

"You got me all wrong, Nelson." Reaching out, he straightened the man's shirt. "Relax man, we're just having a friendly conversation, okay?"

The guard nodded again like a puppet.

"No need to be uncivilized. You've cooperated, unlike your friend over there who did something _very_ stupid," Lloyd said nodding to the dead guard. "I've got what I came for. I've got no quarrel with you. So you just keep cooperating and everything will work out fine between all of us, understand?"

"S...Sure, mister. Whatever you say."

"Mighty respectful, I like that. You just keep thinking like that."

As Lloyd withdrew the gun from the man's face and stood up, the guard let out a long shaky sigh and sank back against the wagon wheel, sweat beading down his face.

Roark started to take a step forward in protest, but Briggs blocked his way, holding his gun up in warning not to intervene.

The young gun, dually impressed moved closer, for this is how Lloyd worked, always in control.

Raising his piece, Lloyd ran the barrel against his stubbled cheek as if in thought. "'Course I do have one little problem." The sudden change in Lloyd's tone caused the young gun's brow to knit into a frown. "You see, my fat friend over here," he said jerking the gun towards Roark, "and I have some rather important business to attend to, one I don't necessarily want to invite a party to, understand?"

The guard nodded.

"So you see my problem, I can't exactly have you taking off for the law as soon as we're gone."

The guard tensed up again, pressing his back against the wheel. Hurriedly, he said, "I swear, mister. I won't tell a soul! I'll stay right here for as long as you say. You won't get a peep out of me for a month of Sundays."

"I would like to believe I could trust that, trust and loyalty being very important traits in a man, don't you agree?"

Confused at the direction of the conversation the guard simply stared back.

Without turning his back Lloyd motioned the young gun to his side. "I want you to take care of this kid. Understand?" Lloyd said slowly.

The young gun looked down at the pathetic frightened guard who was trying to shrink back against the spokes of the wagon as far as he could get. Standing awkwardly at Lloyd's side it took several seconds before his full meaning sank in. The outlaw leader wanted no witnesses. The young gun bit down on his lower lip. It was one thing to shoot back on a man firing at you, but quiet another to do it in cold blood.

"But…" he started to say, but Lloyd whipped around silencing him with a razor sharp tongue.

"If you want to ride with me then I think it's time for you to realize this isn't a game. I play for keeps, understand?" Lloyd snapped. "And those that get in my way get hurt. You chose to come; now it's time to earn your keep."

A thick tension followed as Lloyd waited for his response.

Finally the young gun replied, "All right. Sure Lloyd."

With a heavy step forward, he slowly raised the pistol. The guard gripped the spokes of the wagon wheel until his knuckles turned white, eyes terrified.

The guard pleaded soulfully. "I'm begging ya, please don't kill me!"

As he slowly cocked the gun and tightened his finger over the trigger, the guard dropped his head, a pathetic sob issuing forth. "Please, please, I don't want to die."

The young gun swallowed hard against the bile rising in the back of his throat. With each passing second he could feel the weight of Lloyd's stare like heavy bands constricting his chest. But try as he might he found himself hesitating.

The single shot that rang out a second later startled everyone. It was hard to say who was the more surprised, the young gun or the defenseless guard. Then, as if in slow motion, the young gun watched the guard slowly topple motionlessly over, landing face down in the dirt.

Smoke drifted from the gun in Lloyd's outstretched hand. Numbly the young gun turned back and stared at the growing pool of blood on the ground while Lloyd glanced down at it as if it were no more than a puddle of water.

Stepping closer until he was only inches from the young gun's face, he said in a flat voice devoid of emotion, "That's the difference between the two of us kid. I can and it's time you finally understood that!" There was not an ounce of pity or remorse in his eyes, just hard, black coldness.

It was only Roark's twisted chuckle from the sidelines that caused him to break eye contact. "Damn Lloyd. Couldn't have killed him better myself. I see you haven't lost your touch."

Anger, humiliation and something he couldn't even put into words churned like vomit. Reflexively he raised his pistol and directed it at convict's fat face.

Roark jeered. "Go ahead kid, _if_ you got the guts!"

The young gun stood for several long seconds clenching his teeth but did not fire.

"Yellow! I knew it!" Roark said in disgust, then laughed. "You got yourself a pansy boy here Lloyd."

Without warning, the young gun squeezed the trigger. Roark let out a resounding yelp as the bullet creased the side of his boot, making the outlaw do a quick dance to the side.

"Son of a bitch!' he bellowed, landing on his rear as he grabbed his foot. Smoke drifted off the worn leather. The bullet hadn't ripped a hole in the boot but had left a nasty crease and probably a nice bruise on Roark's foot to go along with it.

"You damn near shot my foot off!" Roark bellowed in surprise.

"If that had been my intention, it would be gone," he snapped back.

"Why you…" Roark growled struggling to raise his bulky frame into a standing position.

"Enough! Both of you!" Lloyd snapped. Turning to the young gun, he ordered, "Go help Briggs get these men and wagon out of sight before we're noticed."

"Listen here Lloyd, if you think I'm going to allow some snot nosed kid to mess with me…" the convict began to protest.

"Shut up Roark and mount up before I decide to shoot you myself."

Smitty tossed Roark the reins to the extra horse they had brought along. Seeing the fury in Lloyd's posture, Roark decided not to push the issue. Besides, for the moment he was right. Best thing they needed to do right now was to get the hell out of here.

Once mounted, Lloyd tossed Roark a gun belt but glared at him in clear warning. Smiling, Roark slid the gun out of the holster, enjoying the grip of cold steel again. Looking down at the two dead guards he shook his head and chuckled, replacing the gun in its sheath. Lloyd was almost as cold as he was. It was an admirable quality.

The young gun couldn't quite keep the trimmer from his hand as the two dead men were placed in the back of the prison wagon. When he looked down he saw that his hand was covered in blood. He stared at it curiously before slowly wiping it off on the dead man's pants. For all his talk of being a fast draw, he had little experience with cold-blooded death. Briggs turned to him with a look of sympathy. The kid had learned a hard lesson today, one he better not soon forget.

Climbing into the driver's seat, Briggs turned the team off the road, hiding the wagon in a small box canyon.

Satisfied the outlaw leader turned to the others. "Let's ride."

29


	2. Chapter 1: The Camp

**Chapter 1: The Camp**

Mark McCain stood anxiously by with wide eyes as the two large men circled one another, each looking for an advantage over the other. Lucas gauged his opponent. Rough Collins was a big burly man with meaty forearms and a barrel chest as tough as a tree trunk. He smiled wickedly at Lucas showing off the space between two large front teeth. His face was round and almost hidden beneath a large curly beard. As a matter of fact Rough was hairy all over and looked like a grizzly bear ready to attack, arms outstretched, legs set shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent.

"Give it up Luke, you haven't got a chance!" the heavily Irish accent jeered.

Lucas just shook his head, his eyes narrowing, his chiseled face intense. Though Lucas was a good head taller than Rough, the other man was at least thirty pounds heavier.

"We'll see about that."

Suddenly, Rough made his move and the two men were locked together in an arm to arm combat. Each man strained to bring the other down with muscles bulging and teeth clenched.

Seeing the commotion, a small crowd began to gather. Four or five rough looking men made their way into the middle of the compound making no move to interfere but rather seemed to delight in watching Lucas' discomfort. Twelve year old Mark shot them a fierce glance before returning his attention to his father.

The two men wrestled fiercely, neither willing to give up the fight. Rough slipped a leg between his opponents sending Lucas crashing to the ground. The two men were now rolling back and forth, the damp earth clinging to the back of their shirts.

At last Lucas broke free long enough to get to one knee. But before he could stand, he was grabbed from behind as Rough tried to get Lucas in a headlock. Lucas gripped the other man's thick forearm trying to pry it away from his chest. Grunting, he planted his boot firmly on the ground. Exerting all his strength, Lucas pushed Rough away.

The big man fell on his back with a grunt. But Rough was far from defeated and slowly he rose to his feet again. Lucas stood back up breathing heavily.

"You've gotten better, but not good enough, Sodbuster!" Rough jeered, showing Lucas that detestable toothy smile as he circled once again.

Mark watched his father's reaction. Lucas hated being called a Sodbuster. His face closed, his lips thinned.

"And you've got a big mouth."

"So why don't you try and shut it up!"

Lucas took the advance this time crashing into the other man. They careened across the compound landing in a large patch of muddy earth, once again locked in a battle of strengths and wills. Soon both were caked in the black gooey mess.

The men were now laughing and jeering even harder. Mark moved closer, clenching his fist. "Come on Pa, don't let him get the better of ya!" he called out desperately.

"Stay out of the way son." Mark could see the veins bulging on his father's temple and the sheen of white teeth clinched through his mud caked face.

Lucas twisted free and stood back up. Sweat poured down his face leaving a muddy track. Rough lunged at him again. They struggled some more until Lucas felt himself being pressed backwards by the strength of those big meaty arms. But Lucas wasn't about to give up. He let himself fall to the ground bringing one foot up as he went and planting it squarely on Rough's chest. The burly man become airborne as Lucas flipped him over the top of him.

Rough lay on the ground stunned and slightly surprised. But before he could recover, Lucas was on top trying to pin his shoulders into the mud. Rough grabbed Lucas by the face trying to push him away.

Mark raced to his father's side and got down on his knees. "Come on Pa, you can do it!"

The men were going wild seeing Lucas with the advantage. Mark waited with baited breath as his father strained to hold his opponent down.

But then Rough brought his arms up between Lucas' and in the next instant Lucas found himself flipped over onto his back. The table was now turned in the other man's favor. Rough quickly took the advantage and gritting his teeth pressed Lucas into the mud. Lucas struggled to get up, but the other man's strength finally overcame him. Mark pounded the ground three times with his fist counting out loud, but his father was unable to break the hold. At the end of the count Rough released Lucas and fell back in the mud out of breath.

Lucas eased himself up on his elbows and both men started to laugh heartily. Rough slowly staggered to his feet and extended his arm out. Lucas gripped it as Rough helped him up.

The big burly man slapped Lucas hard on the shoulder, making him grimace. The rest of the men came over to congratulate their boss. "Ah ya nearly had me that time, Luke."

Lucas laughed.

Mark walked over to his father, a look of disappointment on his face. "You'll get him next time Pa!"

Rough looked down at Mark and bellowed loudly. "Spoken like a true McCain!"

"Hope I'm not interuptin'" A voice suddenly came from behind.

Mark whipped his head around to see an older man on horseback. A silver star was pinned to his chest. "Micah!" Mark called out excitedly and raced over to greet him."Ah, ya should have seen it! Pa nearly got him this time!" He said proudly.

Rough approached the rider raising his bushy eyebrows as he inspected the badge. "Just good clean fun, Marshal, I assure ya."

Micah looked down at the two men covered in mud. Clearing his throat, he tugged at his ear trying to look serious. "Well, I don't know about the clean part."

Lucas laughed as he examined himself. The muddy shirt was plastered to his skin. He pulled it away from his chest trying to shake the large chucks of black ooze off the material. "Guess we do look like a couple of sow pigs."

Micah dismounted.

Lucas ran his fingers through his hair still breathing a little heavily. He hadn't had this much of a work out in quite some time. "Rough, I like you to meet a friend of mine, Micah Torrance."

Micah extended his left hand. His right arm hung stiffly at his side, the result of a gunfight several years back that had blown his shoulder out.

The burly man approached and wiped his hand on his shirt before greeting him with a crushing handshake. "Pleased to meet ya."

Micah nodded and winced. When Rough let go, Micah shook his hand to get the feeling back.

Rough laughed. "Sorry Marshal, sometimes I just don't know my own strength."

"No need to apologize. Any man that can bring Lucas McCain down a notch or two every once in a while is good enough for me!"

Rough introduced the Marshal to the rest of the men in the small lumber camp before they took off to return to their work. Cocking his head to the side he asked, "Is that a bit of the Old Country I hear?"

Micah chuckled slightly. "Didn't know it still came through."

"Oh, ya can't fool a fellow Irishman."

They headed back across the compound towards Rough's office. Rough was the camp foreman of the rag tag bunch of timber men contracted to cut and provide the ties for the railroad line running through New Mexico. It didn't require much effort to keep his men in line though. Few seemed to want to tangle with the big bear of a man.

"Did you finish your business in Silver City, Micah?" Mark asked as they walked.

"Sure did."

"I ask Micah to swing by on his way back from Silver City if he finished up in time." Lucas explained. "That way we could all ride back to North Fork together." Lucas owned a small ranch about five miles out of North Fork, a small but growing town in the southwest portion of New Mexico Territory. Micah was North Fork's town marshal and Lucas' best friend.

"I'm sure Nels will be none too happy to see me back as well."

"You got him to be acting Deputy while you're gone?"

Micah nodded. Nels, a big burly Swidishman, was the local blacksmith. Occasionally he and a few others, including Lucas, had to act as volunteer deputies whenever Micah had to be out of town. What Micah needed was a full time deputy. It was one of the reasons he'd gone to Silver City. Silver City was the county seat for the area. He was trying to get funding to upgrade the Marshal's office as well as pay for a deputy.

"Well, we'll be ready to head out first thing in the morning." Lucas said. "Mark, why don't you take care of Micah's horse while Rough and I get cleaned up?"

"Sure Pa." Mark said happily as he led the horse away.

Rough brought Lucas over to a large rain barrel that was used to wash up. Both men stripped their shirts and proceeded to remove the mud caked into their skin. The water was ice cold, but it felt good against their heated bodies.

Mark finished tending to Micah's horse then put him in the corral with some feed and water. He rejoined the group just as his father was putting on a clean shirt.

"Did you have any trouble getting the herd up here?" Micah asked.

Lucas shook his head looking down at his son proudly. He put a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Not a one. Got me one of the best cow punchers around, haven't I son?"

"Sure do!"

The father and son team had delivered a small herd of cattle to Rough for his crew and some of the other locals who were grateful for the fresh beef. On the trail ride up, Lucas had given Mark the job of keeping the herd together. It was something he enjoyed immensely, never tiring of chasin' strays or the long hours in the saddle. It had also been a good opportunity for Blue Boy as well. Mark was training the sorrel pony into a cutting horse so the trail experience had come in handy. Mark looked up at his father. He admired Lucas greatly and took every opportunity to prove to Lucas and to himself he was worthy of the name McCain.

"Well I hope you all are hungry. Tubbs got grub cookin' as we speak." Tubbs was the camp cook. Rough crossed his arms then glanced down at Mark. "I heard he was even makin' a chocolate cake for dessert."

Mark's eyes widened. "Chocolate cake!"

Lucas laughed. "Don't need to tell the boy twice. Two things I think this boy likes better than horses is chocolate cake and fresh apple pie!"

"Can I go help Mr. Tubbs Pa?"

"As long as you don't get in his way."

"I won't." Mark said as he raced off.

Lucas merely shook his head. "That boy's gonna drive me out of house and home one day with his appetite!"

"What do you expect? He's a McCain after all." Rough joked.

They finished cleaning up. "How bought a cup of coffee?" Rough asked Micah. "Got a pot still on the stove in my office?"

"Now that's something you don't have to ask _me_ twice about." The Marshal chimed, thumbing at his chest. Micah was well known for his addiction to coffee, a habit he'd acquired after giving up several more unsavory ones in the past.

Lucas tucked in his shirt, then picked up the modified Winchester rifle he always carried with him. It was a beautiful rifle; one Lucas had designed himself with a quick action loop and pin trigger. It could fire seven rounds out of a Henry magazine as fast as any pistol. Lucas carried it with him wherever he went.

The two followed Rough into a wood framed tent draped in canvas. A small pot belly stove sat in the middle of the room with a metal coffee pot on the warming plate.

Just off to the side was Rough's desk piled high with an assortment of papers, surveyor's maps and tools. On top of a particularly large stack of paper an orange tabby cat lay curled up in a furry ball. More items were stacked around the desk in disorganized piles. Rough pick the cat up who let out a disgruntled purr. "Off you go, little lady and earn your keep." The cat stretched out in protest before walking slowly out the door.

Rough rooted around until he found a couple of tin cups and offered them to his guests. "Not much to speak of, but we call it home," he said as he poured Micah a cup of coffee.

Removing another stack of papers from a nearby chair and not knowing what else to do with them, he set them on his bunk in the corner of the room. He offered Micah a seat while Lucas opted to lean against the corner of the desk, holding the rifle easily across his lap.

As they drank, Micah filled Lucas in on his trip. Micah always detested the necessary task. He disliked politics and politicians, both of which seemed to be thriving as much as the gambling in Silver City. He hadn't much luck with funding for a deputy or the jail. "Folks are more than happy to want an outlaw put away, so long as they don't have to pay for his upkeep."

"So what's going on in Silver City lately, Marshal?" Rough asked. News of any kind was always hard to come by.

Micah leaned back in his chair and filled him in. Most of it had to do with how the town was fast growing into one of the largest centers of trade and business in New Mexico.

Rough shook his head. He was a man who would always like the open frontier too much to be cooped up in civilization for long. Knowing Rough, Lucas could only smile in agreement.

"But say, Luke, I ran into an old friend of mine, Marshal Peters, remember him?"

"Isn't he the one with seven daughters?" Lucas asked ruefully.

Micah nodded smiling. "Used to be the Marshal up near Lone Pine. Retired now, arthritis so bad he can barely get around. Came out to see the last one of his daughters get married off." Micah chuckled. "Never seen a man so happy. Anyway, he had some interesting news to pass down the line about an outlaw named Lloyd Corbain."

"Don't think I've heard of him," Lucas replied.

"Hmmm. Well he may have been around here a little before you settled down into these parts. He and his gang were stirring quite a bit of havoc up around Lone Pine about six years ago. Hitting express offices and Wells Fargo shipments mostly. They had quite a lucrative operation going on for a while. He'd use all those canyons up there to hide out and loose a posse. Law had a heck of a time trying to trail him."

"What happened to him?"

"Took off about five years ago, about the same time the locals were having a lot of problems with a band of renegade Apaches in the area. Army had to bring in extra troops to deal with them. I guess Corbain figured the place was getting a little too hot and moved on to greener pastures. Anyway, Corbain and some of his men were spotted crossing back into New Mexico Territory couple weeks ago up near Branagen. Parker thinks he may be heading back to his old stomping grounds."

"What do you think?"

Micah sat contemplating. "Be a fool if he did. His face is too well known by every law man around these parts and half the army to boot. And there's still plenty of wanted poster plastered around to make it a bit unfriendly to show his face. My guess is he's most likely heading south for the Mexican border, but it wouldn't hurt to keep your eyes open just in case. He's been known to hit outskirt camps like yourself if he thinks there may be profit in it for him."

"I'll remember that." Rough said.

Lucas slapped his friend on the shoulder. "A man would be awful stupid though to want to mess with Rough here," he said jokingly.

Meanwhile, Mark sat watching Tubbs, the camp cook, prepare the evening meal. He was a wiry ornery skinny black man. But, despite his somewhat surly disposition, Mark couldn't help but liked him. He had once been a slave in Mississippi. And, like many slaves, after they were freed, had headed out west. He'd been Rough's camp cook for many years and most of the men didn't seem to care what color his skin was so long as their bellies were full. For the most part Tubbs preferred to be left alone but for some reason he seemed to soften a bit when Mark was around. Rough said maybe it was because Mark reminded him of his own son he'd lost a long time ago.

"Well just don't sit there." Tubbs said peevishly. "Go make yourself useful. Bring me back an armful of wood for the stove!"

"Yes sir."

Mark didn't mind Tubbs' disposition and was more than happy to help. He ran out to the wood pile in the back. Some of the logs on top of the pile were still damp from recent rains. But as Mark started moving them aside to get to the dryer ones beneath he suddenly heard a rattling sound that stopped him dead in his tracks. The hair on the back of his neck rose and he looked quickly about. There, next to the woodpile a huge rattlesnake lay within striking distance of his leg. He must have disturbed its rest when he moved the wood.

The large snake was clearly agitated and continued to shake it's rattle in warning, coiling into a defensive pose. Mark tried to inch slowly away, but it seemed to only make the snake more aggressive, forcing Mark to freeze. Not knowing what else to do he shouted for his father.

Lucas had finished his coffee, and he and Rough were heading over to check on Mark. They just approached the side of the cook's tent when Lucas heard his son's panicked cry. He gripped the rifle tightly and rounded the corner with Rough close behind.

The first thing Lucas saw was Mark's back. His son stood frozen. Then he heard the rattle. "Stay still son!" Lucas called out.

Mark turned his head towards his father's voice. "Pa."

The snake coiled up and raised its head ready to strike. Lucas wasted no time. In once fluid move, Lucas brought the rifle up and fired. The snake was shot dead in the head within inches of Mark's leg.

Lucas ran over to his son. "You all right boy?"

Mark looked down at the dead snake and sighed in relief. "I am now. I'm sorry Pa, I didn't even see him. He was hiding in the wood pile."

Lucas put a hand gently on his son's shoulder. "Never mind. I'm just glad you're safe."

Rough let out an impressed whistle. "Mighty quick shootin' there Lucas," he said. "I'd forgotten just how good you were with that rifle."

"Pa's the best there is in these parts, Mr. Collins. He can shoot the head off a dime a hundred feet away," Mark said proudly.

"Mark," Lucas reprimanded a little sternly.

"Well it's true!" Lucas just looked at him sternly. "Yes, sir." Mark said dropping his eyes.

Lucas disliked Mark to boast about his father's prowess. But sometimes Mark just couldn't help himself. He never met anyone that could outmatch his father with pistol or rifle. It was just one of the many things Mark admired about his father.

"Ah don't be too hard on the boy, Luke. He's proud of you."

Before Lucas could respond, Micah and a few of the other men hurriedly showed up alerted by the sound of the gunfire. Lucas explained what happened.

Rough picked up the dead snake. "We've been having problems with these varmints lately." Rough explained. "Just last month a rattler struck one of my men in the arm. He nearly died. A snake this size would have killed the boy for sure." He tossed it aside in the bushes.

One of Rough's men, a half bred Indian by the name of Billy Whitefeather retrieved it. He held up the dead snake admiring it. The Indian was dressed in buckskin pants and a flannel shirt. On his head he wore a beat up cowboy hat with a beaded band and several feathers sticking out the side. His dark black hair hung straight down over his shoulders.

"Now what the heck are you plannin' on doing with that thing?" Rough asked the Indian.

He looked at Mark then winked at Rough. "Rattle snake tail has strong medicine. I make into charm to ward off evil spirits and bring good luck." The Indian set off with his prize.

The sudden danger Mark had felt was now replaced by keen interest. "Can I go watch Pa?"

Lucas was a little wary. Although Rough kept a tight rein on the men, some of them weren't exactly angels.

Rough read Lucas' mind. "It's all right, Lucas, Billy's harmless. As a matter of fact he likes kids. He's got a least a dozen of his own back home."

Lucas finally nodded his approval. "But be back in time for supper."

"I will!" Mark quickly headed off to catch up with the Indian. Lucas was always amazed at his son's ability to bounce back.


	3. Chapter 2: Margaret

**Chapter 2: Margaret**

Later that evening, the McCains and Micah joined Rough and his men in the mess hall which was no more than a canvas tent erected over a crude wooden frame. The table was a couple of large planks atop used wooden barrels. Lanterns hung from the wooden tent pole above.

Mark was talking excitedly as they entered. "Don't forget your manners, boy," Lucas said, popping Mark's hat off his head.

"Sorry Pa."

Lucas and Mark took a seat on one of the long benches. Mark brushed the bangs from his eyes as Micah sat down across from them. Lucas rested the rifle nearby and stared at his son's hair with disapproval. "Remind me to cut that hair of yours when we get back home."

Mark's face screwed up unhappily. "Ah Pa, can't I just go into town and get it done this time." His father always managed to cut it uneven. But store bought hair cuts costs cash money, something the McCains didn't always have a lot to spare when there was a long list of other necessities they needed.

"I'll think about it." But the look on his father's face didn't seem very encouraging. Micah hid a grin behind his hand.

While they were waiting for Tubbs to bring out the food, Mark excitedly showed his father the snake charm Billy Whitefeather had given him. Lucas smiled at his son's enjoyment but told him to put it away 'till after supper.

"Yes, sir," Mark said and tucked in neatly into his jacket pocket.

Tubbs had fixed a hearty meal which the men devoured with enthusiasm. And, as promised, they had chocolate cake for desert. Mark scraped his plate clean enjoying every last savory bite. After they finished eating, the men departed to their separate ways leaving Lucas, Micah, Rough and Mark to linger at the table. Tubbs left a pot of coffee for them before taking leave himself.

Once he was sure Tubbs was out of sight, Rough got up and retrieved a bottle of whiskey he knew Tubbs kept behind one of the apple barrels. He poured a measure into his coffee and offered one to Micah.

The old marshal declined.

"What's this? An Irishman refusing a touch of the dog?"

"'Fraid so. At least this one. I'm afraid me and that old friend have had to part company some years back. I take my coffee strong and straight these days."

"Oh, what a shame," Rough said, but didn't press the issue. Lucas declined as well and Rough replaced the bottle. "So, how long have you been in the marshaling business, Micah?"

"Longer that this old bird dog cares to remember I'm afraid. Didn't make my pa none too happy as I recall when I told him. He even tried to make me quit but once I got the taste of it, well the blood of a lawman just doesn't let a man rest easy in anything else."

"Never thought of settling down?"

"Chasing outlaws from one stretch of the country to the next doesn't give a man much time for settling down and raising a family," Micah replied. "Besides, don't expect a reputable woman would want much to do with me anyway, nowadays." Micah laughed.

"I know the feeling. Timberwork is a lot like that that but I couldn't see myself doing much else nowadays. Men like us are a breed in and of ourselves. Born under the stars and meant to die the same."

Micah nodded.

The foreman took his pipe out and lit it, resting his beefy arms on the table. "Still can't believe this one ever settled down," Roug remarked pointing to his old friend. "You know Marshal, Luke here was quite the wild one in his day."

"So I've come to learn over the years," Micah replied. The old marshal had learned much about this big man he'd come to respect and call one of his closest friends, but even now there were many things that still surprised him.

"Rough and I go way back," Lucas explained. "We knew each other in Texas before I moved to Oklahoma."

Rough looked at Mark. "I remember when your Pa was just a cocky young cow poke with barely enough stubble to be called a man and prideful enough to get himself in a heap of trouble."

Mark glanced keenly over at his father. His father seldom talked about his past.

"I've been takin' down a notch or two since then," was Lucas' reply, sipping on his coffee.

"Good thing too, or you probably would have been in jail by now." Rough laughed. Lucas could only agree. Back then he'd made a lot of mistakes, some of which he felt he was still paying for even today. He saw the inquisitive look in his son's eyes but refused to elaborate.

"Say, you remember Tom Birch? I wonder whatever happened to him?"

The name struck a familiarity in Mark's memory. "Pa, isn't he the one that came to visit ya last year?"

Lucas sat down his coffee cup slowly. He nodded and seeing the curious look on Rough's face went onto to explain. "He and his gang of outlaws were planning on robbing the bank in North Fork last year. Guess they pressed their luck one too many times. Most of his men were killed. Tom…he ended up in prison."

Micah looked over at Lucas remembering the incident well. Lucas had neglected to mention that he had been the one to stop Tom from going through with his plan and had been the one responsible for his capture. All Lucas would say on the matter later when Micah questioned him was that at one time he might have been on the other side of the gun.

Rough nodded. "Yeah, he was always a wild one all right. Never could picture old Tom as one to ever settle ever down into an honest life. It's good to see you didn't follow suit. The two of you were pretty tight once upon a time."

"Things change. People too."

Rough nodded. "But in your case Luke, I think Margaret had a lot to do with it, don't you?'" Rough was referring to Lucas' late wife. Margaret had passed away when Mark was barely six. As a widower, Lucas was raising his son alone.

Lucas nodded. "Perhaps," he replied softly. "Or maybe I just decided it was time I grew up."

The men talked for a spell while Mark listened. He enjoyed hearing about his father's past. As Rough told them stories of Lucas' younger days all three men laughed.

"I still remember when your Pa traded in his Colt for that fancy rifle he designed." Rough said pointing to the Winchester propped up against the table. "You're Pa was always good at metal work."

Lucas stared down at the rifle. The pin and loop set up allowed it to be cocked and fired in one smooth move.

"First time he tried to use that quick action trigger he blew a hole in Ned Preston's roof. That old man nearly took Luke's hide off that day."

Lucas laughed. "He was madder than a hornet's nest as I recall."

"It took Luke nearly a week's pay worth of shells and a month of practicing to learn how to fire the darn thing straight let alone hit anything. We used to takes bets on whether he'd end up shooting his foot off first before he finally got the hang of it." Rough sighed with the memory. "Ah, but it sure proved its worth up at the line camp the day you saved Margaret's life, didn't it Luke?"

Mark's head snapped up and his eyes widened. "Really!"

Lucas looked at his friend. His face had lost some of its laughter."Rough, I don't think we need to go into that."

The foreman seemed a little surprised. "You mean you never told him?"

Lucas sighed. "It was a long time ago."

"Don't be so modest."

"Why what happened?" Mark was eager to know.

Lucas looked over at his old friend sternly, but Rough ignored him."Well this was of course before Lucas and your ma got married. You see Mark your Pa was a pretty wild back then. Guess we all were. Anyway, back then Margaret didn't really care for him too much, thought he was too cocky for his own good." Lucas could only nod in agreement.

"But Ma loved ya, didn't she Pa?" Mark asked.

"'Course she did son. What your mother and me had was…very special," he said softly. Mark saw his father's eyes drift off into the past. It was always like that whenever anyone spoke of Mark's mother.

"Until that day though, Mark," Rough went on, "I don't think Margaret took more than a passing glance at your Pa, except maybe to think it should have been on a wanted poster," Rough chuckled. "She was actually going with another fella by the name of Trent."

Mark saw his father's mouth thin in displeasure. He knew that look. His father must have had strong feelings about the man.

"Some folks even said they were plannin' on getting married."

That made Mark sit up straight. Rough smiled coyly. "Ya mean, Pa wouldn't have been, well… my pa?" Mark asked in amazement.

"Possibly." Rough said jokingly.

Mark frowned. He didn't really care much for that idea. "So what happened?" Mark asked anxiously.

Lucas threw Rough a warning glance. Rough cleared his throat and continued cautiously. "Well, let's just say your Pa realized that Trent hadn't always been on the up and up. Lucas had suspected for a while he was stealing cattle from the local ranchers and possibly disguising them under his own brand. When he confronted Trent about it, he of course denied it. But a few days later Trent ended up killing a friend of ours while trying to cover up his tracks. For Margaret's sake Luke tried to bring Trent in peaceful but he'd refused and managed to escaped." Rough was watching Lucas closely and chose his words carefully. "Everyone thought he'd left the area for good but a few weeks later, Trent came back and took Margaret. When Lucas found out, he felt responsible and went after her."

"Really?"

Lucas nodded solemnly.

"He had trailed Trent for several days before catching up with him at an old line shack up in woods. Your Pa tried everything he could to talk Trent into letting Margaret go and giving himself up. You see, your Pa and Trent used to be close friends once and he still hoped that friendship would make Trent come to his senses. But Trent refused. By then he was a little touched in the head and blamed Lucas for turning Margaret against him. When she tried to escape, your pa was forced to use that rifle that day to stop Trent from shooting her. After that, well Margaret really started looking at your pa in a different light."

Rough laughed. "They were married two years later. The day your ma agreed to be Lucas' wife was one of the happiest days of his life."

They sat quietly for the longest time. Lucas watched Mark's face closely. His son thought long and hard then eventually looked up at his father. "Why didn't you ever tell me?" Mark asked.

Lucas sighed. "Son, some things are just hard to explain without stirring up a lot of painful memories. That day was one of them and I'd like to leave it at that, okay?"

"Sure Pa, I understand."

Deciding the mood had become a little too serious, Rough changed his tactics and started telling Mark some other stories about his father. When the tales became a little too wild for even Lucas to believe, he eventually brought the conversation to a close. "Time to turn in Mark."

Mark looked disappointed. "Can't I stay up a little while longer Pa? I want to hear more."

Lucas shook his head. "I think you've heard more than enough for one night. Besides we need to get an early start in the morning. In case you've forgotten, we've got a ranch to run. There's a lot of work piling up back home. You go ahead. I'll be along shortly."

"Yes Pa." Mark rose. "Goodnight Micah, Mr. Collins." Mark headed across the compound towards the tent Rough had set them up in. The two men that normally used it were currently away.

"Marshal, you're welcomed to bunk in with me. I've got a cot I can set up for you."

"Sounds good to me."

Rough left with Micah to show him where he could bed down for the night.

Lucas took the opportunity to walk out into the evening air. Extracting a cigar from his pocket, he lit it then leaned back against a tall pine tree caught up in the memories of the past.

"Luke? Luke?"

It was several seconds before he realized Rough had walked up and was talking to him.

"You look like you were a thousand miles away."

Lucas sighed. "Guess I was," he said softly. He stared across the compound to the tent Mark had disappeared into. Rough seemed to read Lucas' thoughts.

"Amazing how much he resembles Margaret, isn't it?"

Lucas nodded. As a matter of fact it was. While Lucas had sandy light hair and pale blue-green eyes, his son had inherited Margaret's dark chestnut hair and soft brown eyes. He also had Margaret's mouth, wide and cheerful and full of expression. It was nearly six years since he'd lost her to the fever. Mark was now twelve. He'd resigned himself to her loss and had moved on trying to make a good life for he and the boy. "Every day and in so many ways."

"I hope I didn't cause trouble between you and the boy with that story."

Lucas shook his head. "No, it's not that. I try hard not to keep secrets from the boy."

"Thinkin' about Trent."

"Some memories are just harder to let go than others." Lucas looked at the rifle he held in his hand and let out a short grunt. He looked at his long time friend. "This rifle has been both a blessing and a curse. Over the years it's saved the people I cared about the most, but always at a price."

"I wasn't your fault Luke. Trent may have been your friend once but he gave you no choice that night. He would have killed Margaret rather than let anyone else have her. He'd become twisted, wrapped up in own obsession. If he hadn't tried to kill her that day, and she'd married him, he would have killed her spirit eventually."

"I know." There was a long silence as Lucas thought about the past. Despite all that had happened Margaret had never let it change the kindness in her heart.

"I was surprised to hear you'd left Oklahoma." Rough said at last.

Lucas took a long drag on the cigar. He shrugged. "After Margaret died, well I just didn't see the point in staying. She was gone and there was nothin' left back there to hold me except a lot of painful memories. So I left; didn't even say goodbye to anybody. I just packed up what few things Mark and I had and headed west. Guess you could say I was runnin' away from the past for a while. But I knew I couldn't do that forever. I had my son to think of and I wanted him to have a life." Lucas smiled. "I finally found it in North Fork."

"You really like being a Sodbuster," Rough teased.

"Rancher," Lucas corrected. "And yes, I like it just fine. It feels good to finally plant my feet on solid ground again. And it's good for the boy."

"You're doing a fine job, Luke. He's quite a kid."

"I like to think so. But if you want me to be honest, I think I'd rather face a gunfight half the time over trying to answer some of the questions my son comes up with nowadays."

Rough laughed.

"The hardest job I ever had is trying to be a good father to that boy."

"Doesn't seem like you've done such a bad job, Luke. He's turning into a true McCain."

Lucas laughed. "Don't I know it. That's half my problem." He sighed. "I worry about that sometimes. He's growin' up fast. I don't want him to go down the same path I did."

"From where I'm standing, I don't think it was such a bad way to go."

Lucas looked at his friend. "You know what I mean. I made a lot of mistakes in my younger days." Lucas gripped the rifle. "I don't want Mark to fall into the pitfalls I did. Sometimes it's pretty hard to climb back out in one piece." He looked down at the rifle and sighed. "And, I don't ever want Mark to know what it's like to have to kill a friend. He sees me with this thing and tries to put me on a pedestal. But I'm just a man."

"Not in his eyes, Luke. To him, you're his world. Don't try and run away from it. I know of folks around here that would kill to have the relationship you have with that boy, me included. That's gotta tell you something about what kind of father you are to him."

"He is somethin' all right."

"He's your son and he has to deal with your reputation just like you do."

"But he's also Margaret's. She put up with a lot more than most women deserve and never complained once," he said softly. As always, whenever he spoke of his late wife it was with fondness. But Margaret had that way about her.

"She'd be proud of you, Luke, I know she would."

Lucas finished his cigar and looked up at the night sky which was clear and filled with stars. "Well I'd better be turning in myself. We've got an early start in the morning."

The two men said there goodnights. Lucas started to walk across the compound but stopped. He turned around to his friend. "Thanks, Rough."

Rough just nodded his head, then turned away and headed for his own bunk.

Lucas retired to the tent where Mark was already fast asleep. Clutched in his hand was the Indian rattle snake charm Billy Whitefeather had given him. Lucas adjusted the blanket over his son and stared down at him with a smile on his face. As long as he had his son, he would always have a little piece of Margaret.


	4. Chapter 3: The Ambush

**Chapter 3: The Ambush**

After a hearty breakfast, Lucas, Mark and Micah prepared to leave. Lucas handed Mark the canteens to fill while he loaded a sack of supplies onto his horse.

The morning air still had a bite to it as Rough ambled over to the trio. He had on a plaid flannel shirt and despite the chill in the air already had the sleeves rolled up showing off those hairy beefy forearms. He was carrying a cup of coffee in one hand and something else in the other. "All set?"

Lucas gave everything a double check as Mark returned with the canteens. "Think so. Sure was nice seeing you again Rough."

"Same here Luke. Glad you could stop by Marshal."

Micah nodded. "Same here."

"You'll have to come out to the ranch someday, Rough."

"I just might have to do that. If nothing else, just to see you cleaning out the chicken coup."

"I leave that chore to Mark," Lucas said lightly.

Mark looked up embarrassed. "Oh, Pa." It was no secret that Mark had an intense dislike for some chores especially ones he called "woman's work" which mostly included washing dishes and doing the laundry. But as his father often reminded him, a chore was a chore that needed to get done and it was no use whining about it.

"Oh, almost forgot," Rough said, motioning to Mark. "Come here boy, I've got something for ya."

Mark walked curiously over. The foreman handed him a round rock. Mark looked at it puzzled. It didn't look like anything special except, well a rock. "Uh, thank you," he said hesitantly.

Rough chucked at Mark's expression. "You know what you've got there, don't ya?" Mark shook his head. "A hidden treasure." Mark still didn't understand.

"Come here, I'll show ya." Mark followed Rough over to his work bench where he dug around then picked up a flat edge pick. He struck the rock with several precision taps until it cracked open like an egg. Then he took the two halves and rinsed them out in a bucket of water and handed the pieces to Mark.

Mark looked in amazement. Inside the rock were beautiful purple crystals. He had never seen anything like it. "Jumpin' Jahosaphat!" he exclaimed in awe. He showed his father. Lucas was dually impressed.

"Darnest thing I've come across. Probably not worth much, but they sure are pretty aren't they?"

"All say!" Mark exclaimed. "Thanks a whole lot Mr. Collins. Pa just _wait_ till the kids at school see this."

"I think you've made his day," Lucas chuckled. He gathered the reins of his black horse Razor. "Better mount up son. We've got a long ride ahead of us."

Mark stored the crystal rock inside his saddle bag, then mounted his sorrel pony, Blue Boy and eased up beside his father. Micah rode up alongside the McCains.

"Feel free to come back this way again, Marshal," Rough said.

Micah nodded thanking Rough for the hospitality. Lucas waved goodbye to his friend, and the three set off for home.

After nearly a full day of riding the trio finally made their way through the wooded stands of pine and down along the rocky trail towards the winding river. As they approached the crossing, Lucas reined Razor to a halt. Micah pulled up alongside while Mark waited just behind. Lucas sat high in the saddle as he eyed the river in thought. When they'd crossed a week earlier, it'd been a slow moving creek bed, but recent rains had swollen it into a river several feet deep and twice as wide. The return crossing would be more difficult.

"What do you think, Micah?"

The old marshal sat in his saddle with his left hand resting on the saddle horn, contemplating. "Current seems to have picked up, but looks passable," Micah replied with a slight drawl. "'Course no telling how deep she's gotten over the last couple days." He looked downstream where the water churned heavily. "'Might not find any better place to cross though without cuttin' all the way back to Gibson Crossing. And, that's at least a half day's ride." Lucas agreed.

Mark listened quietly to the exchange, enjoying the cool breeze against his neck. There was somethin' special 'bout being on the back of a horse, the feeling of freedom, being out in the wide open country. The only thing better was sharing it with his father.

Almost distractedly, Mark found himself examining his father as Lucas and Micah talked. He saw his father like always, tall and rugged with sharp distinguishing features, a strong square jaw and narrow lips, which often thinned in thought or displeasure. His light eyes were sharp and intelligent, and always watchful. He saw a proud man, in a quite sort of way, who disliked boastfulness, spoke plain and meant what he said. A man that expected Mark to do no less.

Then he thought about what Rough had told him last night and remembered the many emotions that had crossed his father's face. He knew his father hadn't had an easy past and there were things his father still refused to talk about, but at last he understood the sometimes very complex emotions he saw in his father. Anger, love, hate, sadness, they were all mix in together. It's what made his father who he was and Mark couldn't have been any prouder.

Mark's eyes shifted to Micah. The old marshal, a good bit shorter and more stoutly built was one of his father's closest friends. They'd met Micah shortly after moving to North Fork. At least twenty years his father's senior, Micah's features were craggy, worn and weathered like a piece of leather left out too long in the rain. Despite his years though, his eyes remained sharp as any experienced lawman that lived.

A gunfight several years back had left Micah's right arm crippled, which tended to hang stiffly at his side. Though Micah could still use a pistol, he could no longer draw. Instead, he learned to use his left hand. And, nowadays, found the end of a double barrel shotgun made a mighty fine impression on any that would choose to cross the old marshal's path.

"Yeah, I was afraid of that," said Lucas. "Why don't we scout up a ways in both directions a spell."

Micah agreed.

Lucas turned to Mark. "Come on boy."

Mark kneed the sorrel forward and eagerly followed his father upstream, while Micah headed down.

The hills around them were still green; the grasslands wouldn't turn wheat colored until late summer. The sky was a bright blue with occasional patches of large white clouds drifting through the vast openness. The day had warmed up nicely. But now, as the afternoon began to wane, a cooler breeze was coming in from the north.

In the distance ahead lay the Gila, (pronounced Hila), and Black mountain ranges. They were an ominous wilderness barrier to the northern part of New Mexico Territory.

With much to do at the ranch, Lucas wanted to be back in North Fork before noon the next day. They had fences to mend and yearlings to round up. He also wanted to stop at the general store and see if Hattie had received the plow blade that had been on order for over a month.

Lucas took a cigar out of his pocket and cupped his hand against the breeze to light it. Soon the familiar robust aroma drifted over to Mark.

As they rode along side by side, Mark started talking in his usual excited way. Lucas was always amused by his son's youthful enthusiasm. This time it happened to be over the upcoming rodeo in North Fork at the end of the week. It was part of the town's Founder's Day Celebration and anything involving a horse sparked his son's interest.

"Just ya wait Pa, I'll show that Matt Barton what calf rop'ins all about!"

"Thought Matt was one of your best friends?"

Mark looked over at Lucas. "Well he is….But…dang burn it Pa, his been mouthing off at the jaw something awful lately, ever since his uncle brought him that Black Blaze. He acts like he's too good for any body else's boots."

"Well it is a mighty fine piece of horse flesh son." Lucas smiled with a light twinkle in his eye.

Mark's mouth compressed with McCain pride and he looked straight ahead. "I know. But I still don't think he can match up to Blue Boy."

"We'll see. That sorrel of yours is still pretty young and ancy."

"But ya said yourself Pa that Blue Boy's got a natural instinct to be a good cutting horse."

Lucas took the cigar out of his mouth, pretending to exam it. There was amusement on his face as he listened to his son's defense of the pony. "So I did." They rode a little further. Lucas scanned the river as they talked.

"Say Pa?" Mark continued.

"Hmmm." Lucas said, drawing in on the cigar.

"You know I heard first prize in the calf roping might be a brand new .22," he said hopefully.

Lucas glanced over at his son, one eye narrowing slightly. He had a feeling where the conversation was heading. "You know my feelings on the .22, Mark."

"I know, but Matt's Pa said he was old enough for a rifle."

"I'm not Matt's Pa."

"But I'd just keep it on the ranch. I wouldn't even load it, honest. 'Sides you said yourself you were pretty young when you got your first gun."

"I was young all right, but not that young. A boy your age has no business messing with such things. They're not toys. When you're older and I think you're good and ready we'll see about it, but not before, understand?" Lucas said sternly.

"Yes, sir," Mark said a little dejectedly. Lucas heard the tone in his son's voice, but chose to ignore it.

The trail had narrowed as they entered a stand of woodlands. Mark was forced to ride single file behind his father, occasionally dipping his head under low hanging branches. In the shade it was quite cool.

Mark had been after his Pa for quite a while to let him get his own rifle. But Lucas always held back. It wasn't that his father ever let him hold a gun. As a matter of fact Lucas made sure Mark was well familiar with them. He wanted no mishaps when it came to a loaded weapon. He'd taught Mark to respect them and never take their use lightly.

But Lucas had strong feelings when it came to guns. He considered the rifle no more than a useful tool though deadly when placed in the hands of someone too foolish or too cocky for his own good. He preferred the rifle over a handgun he told Mark for its practicality on the wide open range. But Lucas also knew the West was still a wild frontier and guns were a necessary means of survival and protection.

Mark remembered his father once telling him that whenever a man had to use a gun, he'd somehow failed. No pleasure or good ever was gained in taking another's life. But until the land was settled there were times when a man may be left with little choice. He thought of what Rough said about Trent and his pa being friends once. He suspected his father's reserve had something to do with what happened between them. Mark also knew his father wouldn't budge on the .22 so he let the subject drop.

They'd ridden about fifteen minutes or so before Mark called out. "Hold up, Pa, I think my cinch is loose." Jumping, he tried to make the necessary adjustments.

Lucas dismounted and ambled over to his son with long easy strides. Standing, Lucas was well over six three, but carried himself with remarkable ease. Mark stood up, barely coming chest-high to his father.

Lucas took the cigar from his mouth and examined the cinch. The braiding was frayed causing the cinch to slip loose. "Looks like you're going to need to do a little repair on that strap when we get back to the ranch," he said. Mark finished re-tightening the cinch and Lucas checked it to make sure it was secure, seeming satisfied.

"Just make sure you take care of this soon as we get back home or you might find yourself flying off that saddle one day," Lucas said, tapping his son lightly on his hat.

Mark smiled at the light banter and remounted. "I will, Pa."

Lucas walked over and examined the river. Jagged outcroppings of rocks and pockets of whitewater made crossing impossible for the horses. He returned and gathered his reins. With one fluid movement he easily remounted Razor. Turning the horse about, he looked at Mark. "Doesn't look favorable, son. Let's see if Micah's had better luck." Lucas urged the Black forward. Mark followed.

Micah was waitin' for them back at the cross point. "River cuts downhill just round the bend," he reported. "Awful choppy, Lucas boy."

"And, too many rocks upstream for the horses to get across safely."

"Well, I guess we ain't got much of a choice."

Lucas nodded. Studying the section of river before them, he pointed off to the right. The river looked calmer, the current not as rapid, but Lucas was still uncertain of its depth. The two men finally decided to cross, but Lucas wanted to go first to make sure it was safe for Mark.

Lucas turned in his saddle. "Wait here, Mark, 'till I get across." Mark shifted his weight in the saddle and nodded in obedience.

Lucas nudged Razor forward then down along the muddy bank and into the water. Moving forward cautiously, he examined the current and veered off slightly to the right. The horse waded deeper until the water came level to his belly. Mark watched anxiously. Lucas moved slow, but steady until at last emerging safely onto the far side. He reined Razor around and signaled for Micah and Mark to proceed, but indicating they should stay to the right.

Micah nodded and headed down the embankment with Mark closely following in his path. As Blue Boy splashed though the water, Mark kept a tight rein on the pony to keep him in check. The water rose quickly and Mark could feel the sorrel's muscles tightening against the current, but the horse continued forward at a steady even pace.

Lucas watched from the opposing bank. Micah followed the same path Lucas had taken. Mark was about a horse length behind.

They were midway across when Lucas thought he saw movement in the rocky hillside above. As he turned his attention upward he saw a shinny glint of metal followed by the quick movement of a dark figure.

"Micah, look out!"

A second later, the quiet stillness was suddenly broken by the resounding crack of gunfire. The bullet entered the water with a splash a few yards shy of Micah.

"Mark! Take cover!"

Lucas drew his rifle from its scabbard, cocked it in one fluid movement and took aim. Three bullets shot out in rapid succession. They ricochet off the rocks in a cloud of dust, striking within inches of the gunman. The unknown assailant was forced to dive quickly for cover. A second gunman nearby returned fire. Micah drew his pistol and fired back.

Mark had pulled back on the reins instinctively as he heard his father's shouts confused by the play of bullets and not sure which direction to turn. Blue Boy reared back in the commotion and he tightened his grip to steady the horse, but as the pony came down, his front foreleg buckled. Before Mark could react, he felt his saddle and horse falling from underneath him and a second later he hit the water.

The sudden shocking coldness made Mark gasp, drawing in the bitterly cold water as his head went under. Blue Boy's hoofs barely missed striking him in the head as the horse tried frantically to regain its footing.

From the far bank Lucas watched in horror as his son toppled over into the swift moving water. An instant later though another bullet whizzed past his head, this time coming in from the left. It struck the tree next to him forcing him to duck for cover.

A third figure moved quickly among the rocks and scrub brush just downriver and he realized they were caught in a cross fire. As the assailant rose to take aim again, Lucas swung the rifle about. The gunman never had a chance as Lucas fired. This time the bullet hit its mark.

By now Micah had cleared the water and shot his horse up the bank. Dismounting quickly, he sought cover behind a large boulder. He was returning fire in the direction of the mysterious gunmen.

"Mark!" Lucas shouted scanning the water with rapid eye movements. Riding low, Lucas drove his horse back into the water, shouting over his shoulder, "Cover me, Micah."

The Marshall sent several rounds up into the rocks. From his vantage point he thought he saw several men take to their horses and head quickly up the hillside on the far side of the river.

Blue Boy had regained his footing by now and was running at full gallop up the embankment, saddle still on, but askew.

When Mark's head broke the surface of the water the first thing he saw was Lucas on top of the Black. Mark kicked frantically towards him, trying to grab a hold of the slippery rocks, but the current was pulling him downstream, his now waterlogged jacket and boots dragging him under like lead weights. Coughing and gasping, he cried out. "Help, Pa, Help!"

Lucas heard Mark's frantic cries and saw his son thrashing about in the water a little further downstream. Urging Razor further into the river he could feel the flanks of the horse straining against the fast moving current and had to fight the reins to keep Razor upright.

Suddenly, Mark felt his whole body being twisted under the cold water and quickly gulped a breath of air before disappearing into the swirling current.

Lucas watched his son going under for the second time as the water channeled downward between two large boulders before he lost sight of him completely.

When Razor nearly lost his footing almost unsaddling Lucas as well, he was forced to withdraw back to the embankment, loosing valuable time. Quickly he dismounted with rifle in hand and ran along the rocky shoreline. Staying low, he kept his eyes fixed on the last spot he'd seen his son before Mark went under.

With long powerful legs, Lucas leapt across the water and onto a large boulder in the middle of the churning water in hopes of seeing his son resurface. "Mark!" he shouted anxiously.

The gunfire had ceased, and soon after, Micah approached quickly on foot from the rear, his gun still drawn in vigil readiness.

"Mark! Answer me!" Lucas bellowed. Crouching low, he jumped across another set of rocks, searching frantically between the boulders and shadows. Although he felt a wave of intense fear in his gut he knew he couldn't give into it. It would do no good to loose his wits. He had to keep focused.

"I'll head down this way," Micah shouted, moving down to the opposing side about ten yards from Lucas' current track.

The glare from the late afternoon sun was making it difficult for Lucas to see. He put a gloved hand up to block the rays, vainly searching. But Mark was no where to be seen. Except for the sound of rushing water, nothing else was heard. The gunmen and his son had vanished.


	5. Chapter 4: The Bounty Hunter

**Chapter 4: The Bounty Hunter**

Further downstream Mark continued to fight the swift moving river while at the same time trying to control his own panic. Seconds later he was cascading down a channel of whitewater and into a swirling pool below, his lungs burning in a desperate need for air. As he felt his feet hit solid bottom, he propelled himself upward until he was once more above water, coughing and choking. The current continued to churn about twisting him in all directions, trying to pull him under again.

Suddenly he felt something brush up against his back and he twisted around to see a large limb bobby in the water. Instinctively, he grabbed at it with numbing fingers and managed to pull himself once more above water. The icy cold slapped against his face, blurring his vision. His arms quivered as he tried to hold onto the branches.

Mark attempted to call out, but water quickly filled his mouth, choking him in mid shout. He felt his tenuous grip slipping. With determined resolve, he kicked frantically until he was at last able to haul himself far enough forward to hook an elbow over the side of the log and drag his head and chest clear of the water. Exhausted, Mark rested his cheek against the rough bark, breathing heavily. His energy spent, he could do no more than hold on tight as the current pulled him along an unknown path.

After a search of the immediate area, Lucas and Micah made their way back to collect the horses. It was then they came across a pool of fresh blood on the ground near the edge of the river. As Lucas knelt down and examined it, he could see a trail of blood leading off into the woods. Lucas surmised the blood to be from the one he pegged up in the rocks. Several sets of hoof prints were found in the soft soil nearby, heading up river.

"With that much blood loss, _he_ won't be getting far," Micah said matter-of-factly.

Lucas scanned the area." How many do you figure?" he asked.

"Three, maybe four," Micah replied. "They lit out in quite a hurry."

Lucas nodded his head in agreement wondering what the blazes had provoked such a brazen attack. He gripped the rifle tightly. "Well let's just hope they've had enough for now," he said grimly. Right now his main concern was his son. They mounted up and quickly headed downstream.

Meanwhile, some miles away a small band of men rode hard through the late afternoon. But after a time one of them started to fall behind.

"Hold up, Lloyd,"

The leader of the gang swung his horse about and doubled back. Slumped over in his saddle, the injured man held a hand to his side. It was soaked in blood.

"You gonna be all right, Smitty?"

The man gritted his teeth in pain. "I don't know. I got hit pretty bad."

"We gotta keep moving," Roark shouted back over his shoulder.

"We'll move when I say," Lloyd snapped back. Still furious with Roark's stupidity it was all he could do to keep from grabbing him off this horse and wringing his fat neck with his bare hands.

Retrieving a canteen, Lloyd offered the injured man a drink. With shaky fingers he took a sip. Lloyd could tell he was in a bad way. "Thanks."

"We'll cross the river just ahead and swing back around. We can be at the camp by dawn. Think you can make it?"

"I'll make it," Smitty said gritting his teeth as he tried to straighten up in the saddle.

With some difficulty they made it across the river but Smitty nearly fell from his horse twice in the effort. He gripped the saddle horn tightly as he tried to keep up with the rest of the men.

Still worried about the two lawmen they had crossed paths with earlier and the possibility of an entire posse in the area, Roark grew more agitated as they rode. Glancing back over his shoulder he noticed the injured rider began to lag behind once again. "I'm telling you Lloyd, he's slowing us down too much."

Roark's growing paranoia was starting to grate on Lloyd's nerves. "Shut up! This was all your doing to begin with."

They pushed on but were eventually forced to slow the horses to a walk to accommodate the injured man. Finally, Smitty, unable to hang on any longer, fell from his horse and rolled down the slight incline.

Lloyd reined to a halt and jumped down. Carefully he rolled the outlaw over onto his back. He could see Smitty's side was completely saturated in blood. He was pale and having trouble breathing.

The outlaw looked up at him. "I'm hurt pretty bad, Lloyd," he groaned. "I need a doctor."

Lloyd shook his head. "You know there's not a saw bones around for fifty miles, and even if there was, we couldn't risk it."

The outlaw leader seethed in anger. Smitty was one of his best men. A small trickle of blood oozed from the man's mouth. Cursing, he said "You're no good to me like this."

The man reached out and grabbed Lloyd frantically by the arm. "But you can't just leave me here to die!" he started to protest but ended up coughing up more blood and gasping for breath.

"Sorry Smitty, but you knew the score." A few seconds later Lloyd watched his eyes close and his hand fell lifelessly to the ground.

Lloyd stared down at him for several long hard seconds, his mouth turned down into an angry thin line. Finally he flipped the dead man's coat open and emptied his pockets. His stuffed a small wad of money into his shirt pocket and remounted giving Roark a furious glance. The paranoid convict had cost Lloyd a good man today and the sooner they finished with their business, the happier Lloyd would be. Leaving Smitty's body in the tall grass, the remaining outlaws remounted and headed due west.

After nearly a mile of intense searching, Lucas stood at the river's edge looking at the water forlornly. Mark seemed to have disappeared completely. Long shadows crept across the ground as the afternoon quickly waned. Micah looked over at his friend somberly. From the tense set of his jaw, Micah knew what Lucas was thinking. They would only have an hour or so of daylight left after that it would be nearly impossible to continue the search.

Lucas had hoped Mark had somehow made it to shore. But as time past without even a trace of his son, the worry on his face was evident. Without a word said between them, they continued the search.

It was only when Lucas spotted something bobbing in the water a short time later that his hopes finally rose. "Micah, over there!" Lucas beckoned, catapulting over several boulders with long scissor leg strides, his rifle still gripped tightly in hand.

Reaching the spot, Lucas stopped short and stared with fixed eyes at the object wedged against the rocks. It was Mark's hat!

Bending over he slowly retrieved it as Micah approached. Lucas stood up and called out several times to his son, straining to hear a response. But only the rippling sound of water passing by gave him an answer. He made a thorough search of the area continuing to call out Mark's name but to no avail.

Somberly he made his way back over to Micah and handed the hat to him but not before the old marshal noticed the look of pain and disappointment in his friend's eyes.

A little ways down stream the river twisted around between thickets of trees and Lucas decided to cross over and search the far bank on foot leaving Micah with the horses on the other side. Finding nothing, he crisscrossed back ending farther downstream.

With the horses in tow, Micah pace was further slowed when he was forced to make a detour after discovering a section of the river trail had been washed out. Once he found his was around the block, he spotted Lucas about a hundred yards ahead. He had stopped again and was kneeling down near the edge of the riverbank. Then, to Micah surprise, Lucas quickly stood up and disappeared into the rocks. The hairs on the back of Micah's neck stood up. Something was definitely up.

Up ahead while Lucas had been searching for signs, movement along the tall scrub brush near the river suddenly caught his attention. A stranger on horseback was slowing winding down a narrow path heading straight towards him. Moving stealthy out of sight, he took a position next to a large boulder, his rifle poised.

The rider approached the clearing slowly, scanning the river cautiously as if looking for something.

Lucas quietly watched as he neared. Several yards from where he was concealed, the stranger halted then slowly dismounted, tethering his horse behind a thicket of scrub trees. Taking his worn hat off, he wiped the brim and then ran his fingers through dark scraggly hair as if in thought before replacing it back on his head. Dressed in dark clothes covered in dust, it looked like he'd been on the trail for some time. A six piece was strapped to his right thigh.

As he approached the riverbed, his hand rested cautiously on the butt of his gun, the safety strap released. The stranger appeared perplexed as he looked around, as if expecting to find something but didn't.

Lucas rose from his hiding place and aimed the rifle. "All right, mister! Hold it right there!" The man froze at the sight of the rifle barrel aimed directly at him. "Hand away from the gun, mister. Nice and slow!"

The stranger looked down at his hand resting on the Colt .45 and back at Lucas. "Sure, mister," he said, but his fingers tightened over the handle of the gun.

Lucas was in no mood for games. Without further warning, he shot off three rounds, landing them precisely where he wanted, two on the outside of each foot, the third dead center between the stranger's legs.

The man froze, his hand hovering over the gun. "I wouldn't try it if I was you, mister, the next one won't be a warning." Lucas advised strongly.

Deciding he had no further advantage, the stranger slowly complied, raising his hands in the air. "Got a pretty itching finger there buddy."

"It gets that way when I've got someone taking pot shots at me." Lucas continued. "Now, nice and easy, with your left hand, reach over and toss the gun aside," he instructed.

The gunman complied, tossing the weapon on the ground a few feet away. He raised both hands again, with palms up. Lucas motioned for him to step back, and the stranger moved several paces away from the gun. Lucas advanced and kicked the gun further out of reach.

The stranger just smiled slowly back with hard glassy eyes. "What ever you say, mister. Not looking for any trouble." He had a long face and pointed chin covered in several day's growth of thick whiskers. On the right side of his face he had a scar about three inches long extending from the corner of his lip across his cheekbone. Lucas eyed him with suspicion, his rifle still held at the ready.

"Didn't mean to spook ya, mister," the stranger said. The muscles on the right side of his face where the scar cut across didn't seem to work as well, causing his smile to look twisted and deformed. "Heard gunfire a while ago and decided to check things out."

"And how do I know you weren't the one doing the firing? Where are your friends?" Lucas demanded.

"Whoa, buddy. Wasn't me! I had nothin' to do with it." Then he grinned widely. "But I think I know who might've been responsible."

Micah rode up with the horses in tow, the double barrel shotgun held in the crook of his arm. "You got a problem here, Lucas?" he said dismounting.

"Nothing I can't handle, Micah."

The stranger turned his attention to Micah, noticing the glimmer of silver from the badge affixed to the Marshal's chest. "Well, well appears I've got me some competition." The stranger nodded towards Micah. "Afternoon, Marshal," the gunman said, his hands still raised in the air.

Micah looked at the stranger, puzzled. Cocking his head to one side he asked, "Do I know you?"

"In a way. Let's just say our work takes us in similar circles."

"Who are you, mister?" Lucas demanded.

"Names Jud Broudy"

As soon a he heard the name Micah's eyebrows rose. "Broudy!" he said with some distain.

Without looking away from the gunman, Lucas asked. "Know him, Micah?"

Micah snorted. "Of him, sorry to say."

"Didn't know I was so popular, Marshal….?"

"Torrance," Micah filled in. "Let's just say your reputation has proceeded you."

Broudy smiled. "Why Marshal I don't know if I should take that as a complement or not."

Lucas gave Micah a curious glance and the marshal went on to explain. "Lucas boy, this here is Jud Broudy, paid for hire federal bounty hunter, to use the term loosely. 'Course most of his captures seem to come in slung sideways over a saddle."

"Occupational hazard Marshal," Broudy replied.

"Seems to happen an awful lot whenever you're around as I hear it. Especially, when there's a big reward at stake. Trouble seems to follow you around son."

Broudy shrugged. "Just business. Don't get paid if they get away." Then added in a slow drawl, "But I assure you, Marshall, it's all nice and legal."

"Hmmph. Barely!" Micah muttered.

The bounty hunter merely shrugged his shoulders. "Poster says dead or alive. I get paid either way Marshal. Besides, my way it saves those nice citizens the cost of a trial.

"I don't see any badge," Lucas added.

Broudy grinned. "In my kind of business, mister, it doesn't necessarily pay to advertise." Then he gave Lucas the once over. "You got a name mister, or you gonna let that rifle do all the tak'in?"

"McCain. Lucas McCain."

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Broudy mocked.

"Enough small talk!" Micah interjected. "What's your story?"

Broudy's gaze shifted from the Marshal back to Lucas. He pointed to his vest pocket. "Mind?"

Lucas nodded. "Slowly."

Broudy's eyes narrowed, not liking Lucas's tone. He reached into his vest and slowly pulled out a folded piece of paper with two fingers handing it to Micah. Micah examined it. It was a wanted poster with a thousand dollar reward: Dead or Alive.

"Been chasing an outlaw for the past several months by the name of Lloyd Corbain."

Micah nodded. "I've heard of him. Also heard he doesn't usually ride alone."

Broudy shrugged, seeming unconcerned. "You're right about that. He usually has at least four or five men riding with him. I trailed him across the Texas border into New Mexico. Thought he might be heading into Arizona Territory or possibly down into Mexico. He's got connections in both places. He was spotted up near White Creek, but he must have been tipped off because he lit out in a hurry. I've been scouting a trail for them the last couple of days. When I heard gunfire a ways back I thought I might have another lead." He looked at Micah suspiciously. "Didn't expect to run into competition though. You got an interest in Corbain, Marshal?"

Micah shook his head. "Not at the moment. Matter of fact I was just on my way back home from Silver City." He paused, and then added. "From what I hear, Corbain and his men are a pretty tough bunch. Why aren't you riding with a posse?"

"I prefer to work alone. Less profit to split."

"Humph. Then you're a fool." Micah finished examining the paper and handed it back to Broudy. The bounty hunter stuffed it back into his pocket.

"Think it was Corbain?" Lucas asked Micah.

The marshal rubbed his jaw in thought. "Could be. We might have spooked him."

Broudy still standing with his hands in the air interjected, "Hey McCain! Mind if I have my gun back?"

Reluctantly Lucas nodded, lowering his rifle. Broudy picked the Colt up off the ground, dusted if off and replaced it back in its holster. He rested his gloved hands above the gun belt.

"You have a run in with Corbain?" Broudy inquired.

Lucas' lips thinned grimly. "Appears that way." Lucas quickly relayed what happened. "I hit one of them for sure. But my son fell from his horse into the water. We've been looking for him since. He's twelve. Have you seen him?"

Broudy glanced at the rushing water. He tipped his black hat back squinting against the sun's glare. "Sorry, can't say that I have. I'm not surprised, though. Wouldn't put it past Corbain, or one of his men, to try and bushwhack you if you were in their way." He paused then asked. "How far up did this happen?"

"Almost a mile," Lucas replied.

"That means they may still be close by."

Micah stepped closer to the bounty hunter. "Look Broudy, we got a boy missing and little time to waste. We could sure use your help in finding him."

Broudy rubbed the back of his neck. "Marshal, I'm sure sorry to hear your troubles, but I'm afraid I can't oblige"

Lucas' head snapped up. Before Broudy could react, Lucas took two strides over and grabbed Broudy by the shirt with a clinched fist. "What do you mean?" Lucas demanded, nearly lifting the shorter man off the ground. "Don't you understand? My son is in that river somewhere, and I mean to find him!"

"All right. All right. Take it easy." Broudy gestured with raised arms.

Lucas released him but as soon as he did Broudy withdrew his gun. Lucas made a move to raise the rifle.

"Easy, big man!" Broudy warned. "You won't be any good to your boy with a bullet in your chest!"

Micah quickly stepped between them, his mouth compressed with distain. "I should have known it would be pointless to ask you for any help."

Broudy straightened his shirt out, sending Micah a boyish, but menacing smile. He turned to Lucas. "I'm sorry about your boy McCain, really I am. My quarrel's not with you. I'm even willing to forgive you for that little misunderstanding back there. But I've got a job to do and neither you nor the Marshal here are going to get in my way."

Lucas clinched his fists in fury.

"Let him go Lucas, he's nothing but trouble!" Micah said.

Keeping the gun aimed at the two men, Broudy slowly back up the trail to where his horse was still tethered. "Good advise Marshal." Broudy replied. "I'd advise you to take it to heart yourself."

Without taking his eyes off McCain, he jerked the reins free from the branches. Then he swung up into the saddle, his gun still leveled at Lucas. "You just worry about finding that boy of yours McCain, and leave Corbain to me!" With that he turned and rode away, disappearing into the thick trees.

Lucas took a step forward to stop him but Micah put a hand on his sleeve. "Let him go Lucas," Micah repeated. "He's not worth it. But if he's planning on going after Corbain alone he may be getting more than he bargained for." Then muttered heatedly, "Not that he wouldn't deserve whatever he got from them!"

Lucas glanced over at Micah. There was certainly seemed to be no love loss between the two men. Though Lucas was curious about the bounty hunter, at the moment he had little time to waste on the man. Right now his concern was focused on his son.

Turning, he went back to the horses. Lucas stared at the empty saddle atop the sorrel's back and could feel a lump forming in his throat. He shoved the rifle back into the scabbard a little harder than intended. Micah could see the inner struggle Lucas was battling. Time was against them. But Lucas was a man who rarely gave up, and especially not when it came to his son.

With grim determination, Lucas gathered his reins and the big Black. "Let's go," was all he said as they set off once again.

A mile upstream Broudy scouted the area for the rest of the fading afternoon. Knowing Corbain he was sure the outlaw was using the river to try and hide his trail. His suspicions paid off when he eventually came across fresh tracks heading southeast towards the border pass. It made sense. Mexico was a day's ride and a good place to hide out. But a nagging instinct was telling him something different ever since he'd learned a certain convict by the named Roark had somehow escaped a prison transport wagon a few weeks earlier.

Broudy looked north to the Gila Mountains. Perhaps, Corbain's intent was in the other direction. After scouting around for some time Broudy got lucky and found where they'd crossed. Nearby he also discovered several drops of dried blood. His face twisted into a distorted smile as he crossed the river.

Sometime later in the fading twilight Broudy found a saddled horse without its rider and shortly after made a gruesome discovery. Crouching over the dead man lying in the grass, he tipped his hat back. He'd recognized him immediately. It was one of Corbain's men.

"Well, well, well, looks like that Sodbuster did me a favor. I won't have to kill you myself after all" He rifled through the dead man's pockets but found little of interest that would help him in his search. Broudy hadn't expected much anyway. Corbain was smart and was sure not to leave anything of value behind.

As darkness fell, Lucas was reluctantly forced to stop the search for the night. Somberly, the two men made camp. Micah knew there was little to say to ease his friend's worries and not being much for small talk, kept silent.

While Micah got a fire going, Lucas set about tending the horses. He took off the saddles and gave them each a good rub down. Lingering over the sorrel, he checked the horse thoroughly for any injury but the pony appeared to be in good shape. Once the horses were fed and watered, Lucas took Mark's saddle and sat it in front of the campfire. Without a word, he went about trying to repair the frayed cinch as best he could with some leather straps he'd retrieved from his saddle bags.

Micah prepared some food, but Lucas barely ate. Putting the saddle aside, he meticulously went about cleaning the rifle; then checked the firing pin mechanism and sites, making sure all were in order.

Micah sat quietly chewing a stick he'd whittled into a toothpick watching his friend. He waited patiently.

Eventually, Lucas set the rifle aside and accepted a cup of coffee from Micah. "What kind of man is Broudy?" Lucas finally asked.

Micah took the stick out of his mouth and rolled it around in his fingers in disgust. "He's the worst kind of lawman around, Lucas boy, the kind that gives the rest of us a bad name." He went on to explain that Broudy had once been a peace officer like himself, but had eventually gone into the business of collecting private bounties. It was more profitable than a marshal's salary that was for sure. And from time to time, as Micah heard it, Broudy had even taken on a few questionable private contracts. But it was the way he went about it that left a bad taste behind. "When it comes to "Wanted: Dead or Alive," in Broudy's opinion, dead was a much easier proposition."

But that wasn't what really bothered Micah the most. As a lawman, he had to take his fair share of outlaws in slung sideways. It was part of the job, but Micah had never found enjoyment in it. But from the stories he'd heard from fellow lawmen, Broudy was quite different. He seemed to relish in the chase as much as the reward and had a sadistic nature with his captures. Those that he did manage to bring in alive didn't seem to fair much better than the others.

"Course he always seemed to have a justifiable excuse as to the condition of his prisoners. I wouldn't put it past Broudy to play down and dirty to get what he wants and he's definitely not one to turn your back on."

Lucas, who had always valued Micah's opinion, took the advice to heart. But with a new trail for Broudy to follow, hopefully they had seen the last of the bounty hunter.

A silence followed. Lucas' face looked dark in the flickering fire light as his thoughts turned inward. Micah knew what he was thinking. "We'll find the boy Lucas, whatever it takes," Micah promised. It wasn't idle talk.

Lucas looked up with a wan smile. "I know," he said softly. Getting up, he walked over to the edge of the clearing and stood with his back to the campfire, both hands resting in his back pockets, staring out into the darkness. For the moment Lucas needed to be alone, and Micah respected that.

The old marshal poured himself some more coffee, watching his friend. Micah had meant what he said. He owned Lucas his life in more ways than one and would gladly give his life without question to get the boy back.

Taking a sip of the bitter coffee Micah could still remember the day he'd first met Lucas McCain. At the time he had no idea the impact this tall Sodbuster with a rifle would have on him and how much he and his son would change his life.

Almost distractedly, he rubbed his right arm which remained stiff and practically useless at his side. Once Micah had been considered one of the best peacemakers around, but he had traveled down a long and bitter road since. So, even before he'd staggered out of North's Fork's Second Chance saloon that day, he'd been nothing more than an old, crippled and bitter drunk, a mere pathetic shell of the man he'd once been who had lost both his nerve and self respect. And that's when he met Lucas McCain. Rip roaring drunk and face down in the dirt. Lucas had literally scrapped him up out of the street. It had taken a fair bit of effort to sober him up.

When Lucas had found out about Micah's past, instead of scoffing, he offered him a job working on his ranch. Though Micah hadn't realized it at the time, Lucas had offered Micah something else that day, a second chance.

Micah had thought the Sodbuster was crazy and went along with idea thinking he'd have a push job. Boy, had he been wrong! If Micah had originally thought Lucas was just pitying him, the next few weeks proved just how sadly mistaken he'd been. Lucas wasn't offering charity, and made that clear in no uncertain terms. Micah had sweated more than he had in years. Lucas expected a man's work for a man's pay and wouldn't let Micah use his physical disability as an excuse for the mental baggage he'd been carrying around. If he didn't like it, Micah remembered him saying one particular evening over supper, he was perfectly capable of walking the fives miles back to North Fork. Lucas had refused to give him a ride back into town.

So Micah had stayed and over the next several weeks Lucas helped him battle the inner demons which came from years of drunkenness and self contempt. And it was during this time that Micah learned a lot about this big man behind the rifle. And the one thing he found out very quickly was how important the boy was to him.

But a marshal's past isn't always easy to leave behind. It had confronted him one day when a group of gunmen had come into North Fork in search of the former Marshal, intent on extracting revenge. When the local sheriff had initially tried to intervene and was killed, Lucas, feeling an obligation to a friend and his town, had gone to help, despite Micah's warnings and his son's concerns. But they'd been waiting in ambush for him.

What happened next had been a turning point for Micah. He'd arrived in town to find Lucas on the ground and something had just snapped inside him. No longer the drunken fool who had entered a few months earlier, the blood of a lawman boiled over and he'd had about enough. That day he decided once and for all to prove to himself that he still had it, or he'd die trying. He was through running from the demons of his past.

Somehow Micah had done what was necessary. And when it was all over, Mark was at his father's side stubbornly insisting on taking his father home to recover. It was then Micah realized just how strong a bond existed between this father and son team.

Later, when the silver-stared badge was offered to him it was if he'd finally found his way home after a long journey. And it felt good. Suddenly Micah had a town, his dignity and a good friend. But more importantly, he had his life back. He owed a lot to Lucas, and not once did Lucas ever ask anything back in return.

So as Micah regarded his friend, he knew he would easily lay his down his life for him. Lucas' son meant everything to him and Micah would do everything in his power to help get the boy back.

Lucas turned around to see Micah watching him. They spoke not a word, but seemed to have an understanding between them. He told Micah he'd take first watch, too restless to sleep.

"All right," Micah said, and squeezed Lucas' shoulder in reassurance before retiring to his bed roll.

Alone with his thoughts, Lucas kept vigil. In the flickering firelight, he distractedly fingered the wedding band he still wore after all these years. Though he'd accepted Margaret's death a long time ago, he'd never quite been able to take it off.

As the night dragged on he was trying hard not to worry. Mark was smart. Lucas had taught his son much about the wilderness. If he'd made it to shore, Mark would be following the river back, making sure he left a trail. However, with such a fast moving currents, Lucas worried his son was too tired or perhaps injured to help himself. But for now, Lucas refused to give up hope or accept any other possibility than finding his son safe and sound.

Micah relieved him later, but Lucas barely slept anxious for dawn. The night passed without further incident and by first light, the two men were up and quickly broke camp.


	6. Chapter 5: River Rescue

**Chapter 5: River Rescue**

Earlier that day, and several miles due west, a single rider left the narrow ridge trail and descended into the valley snaking his way through hillsides sprinkled with ash and juniper trees and patches of thick scrub brush. With his saddle bags laden with supplies and having ridden for the better part of the day, Will was beginning to feel a bit stiff in the saddle but glad to be in his own company for once. Below he could see glimpses of the river as it wound its way through the valley, disappearing now and again behind stands of cottonwood.

An hour later he stopped at the river intent on watering his horse while he stretched his tired limps. Leaving the horse to drink, Will retrieved his canteen and made his way a little further downstream where he discovered a small open clearing. Here the river had widened and slowed creating a pool of calm water on the north shore. A small group of trees were growing near the side of a muddy river bank with several branches dipped down and dragging in the water providing a natural canopy of shade.

Will squatted down and threw some water over his face to wash the trail dust from his eyes then took a long refreshing drink. He rinsed out his canteen and refilled it looking up and the late afternoon. With luck, he'd make it to White Rock a little after sunset and set up camp as planned. As he went to recap the canteen though, a strange sound suddenly drew his attention. He instantly stopped what he was doing and listened intently for several seconds. But he heard nothing more than the rippling water.

Will shrugged and stood back up. But as he slung the canteen strap onto his shoulder, the sound came again. He froze. Quickly he drew his gun and listened. After another minute the noise came again, clearer this time and it seemed to be coming from the river itself. It sounded like a moan or a faint cry coming from the low hanging branches in the river. Perplexed, Will wondered if some animal had become trapped. Peering into the shadows, he thought he saw movement. Yes, there was definitely something in there he decided, but couldn't tell what it was from where he stood.

He waded a few inches into the water but suddenly slipped in the muddy sediment and felt cold water rushing into his boot. Grabbing a tree limb to steady himself, he cursed wondering what the heck he was even doing bothering with some stupid animal that might be stuck and half drowned anyway! But as he turned to make his way back up the bank the sound came again. This time he thought he heard the word "help." His head whipped back peering into the shadows. Ignoring the icy coldness Will worked his way further into the river until he was almost thigh deep. That's when he stopped in utter surprise. It was not a something, but a someone. A kid! A boy, barely conscious, was draped limply over a log and entangled in a thicket of branches.

Shocked, Will re-holstered the gun and quickly waded over to him. As he reached the boy he heard him groan then saw him weakly try to move his arms. His eyes opened briefly before fluttering shut again. "Take it easy kid – I'll get you out!"

Will tried to move the log aside but found it to be wedged in tight among the overhang of willowy branches and piles of debris. It took several minutes of pulling and tugging at the tangled mess before he was able to free the boy at last. Rolling him into his arms, he found him to be ice cold, his lips practically blue and looking more dead than alive. With some effort, Will waded back to shore, slipping several times while trying to get back up the muddy embankment. The boy was dead weight, made worse by his soaked jacket and boots. He half carried, half dragged him over to dry ground and laid him gently on a bed of dead leaves. Collapsing on his knees next to him he panted, momentarily out of breath. Sweeping the hair out of the boy's face, he wondered where he'd come from and just how long he'd been trapped there.

Grabbing his face, Will slapped his cheeks to try and revive him. "Hey kid, wake up!"

Mark stirred at the sound and the stinging sensation. Slowly he opened his eyes. A face blurrily came into focus, fair skinned, long and lean.

"You all right kid?"

"Pa," Mark tried to say, but he wasn't sure the words even came out. He tried to lift an arm towards the figure but it fell weakly back. He was so cold and started shivering uncontrollably, before lapsing back into the blackness.

Over the next several hours, Mark was only vaguely aware of the events that followed: of being wrapped in a blanket, and later feeling himself being lifted up and over, and onto something hard; of moving again, in rhythmic fashion, but his arms and legs felt strangely heavy as if tied down.

Later, someone was stripping him and he was being roughly dried down until prickles of pain shot through his body making him moan with the discomfort. Then he was being covered up in something dry and warm. Liquid was forced down his throat. It burned like fire, and Mark coughed and sputtered in protest before he finally drifted off into a deep sleep.

The glare of early morning sunlight filtering through the branches of a tall tree woke Mark from his hard slumber. He was laying flat on his back looking up at the clear sky through a canopy of leaves fluttering in a gentle breeze having no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there.

At last he raised himself up on elbows, groaning as his aching muscles protested. Looking around he realized he was alone in a clearing, boxed in on three sides by several large moss covered boulders. Turning his head, he saw the remains of a cooling campfire set up a few feet away.

A blanket draped across his chest slipped away and Mark noticed he was wearing a shirt several sizes too big for him. He fingered the material in confusion.

Nervously Mark brushed his bangs aside, his brown eyes wide and searching. It was several minutes before recollection started returning and he shivered uncontrollably as he fell weakly back to the ground. The river! He remembered falling into the water and being swept away from his father, of trying to fight the current and stay afloat. But everything else was fuzzy and detached like a dream he couldn't quite remember.

It was then Mark heard footsteps. Rolling onto one elbow, he turned his head towards the approaching sound. "Pa?" he called out in a croaked whisper. His throat was raw and his lips felt dry and chapped.

But it wasn't Lucas McCain that rounded the bend of rocks but a stranger, a young man perhaps four or five years older than Mark, a six-piece hung loosely at his side. The stranger was carrying a load of kindling in his arms and stopped short, a little surprised, when he saw Mark was awake.

Sensing Mark's uncertainty he proceeded slowly over to the campfire pit and set the wood on the ground. "So you finally decided to wake up I see."

Mark remained silent for a moment then shifted nervously into a sitting position. In a cracked voice, he finally blurted out, "Where's my Pa?"

Picking up a canteen the stranger came over and squatted down on his heels before Mark with elbows resting lightly on his knees. Looking intently, he replied, "That's what I'd like to know kid."

He offered the canteen, encouraging Mark to take a drink. Suddenly aware of how thirsty he was, Mark took a large gulp and coughed.

"Easy! Not too fast."

This time he drank more slowly, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before handing the canteen back to the stranger. "Thanks," Mark said hesitantly.

As the stranger recapped the canteen, he asked, "So what's your name?"

"Mark…Mark McCain."

"I'm Will."

Mark looked around unable to see much beyond the clearing due to the boulders and scrub brush. Puzzled, he asked, "How'd I get here?"

Will walked back over to the campfire. He knelt down and re-stoked the cooled embers with a stick then proceeded to add some fresh branches to renew the flames. "Fished you out of the river last night. You'd have been dead for sure by morning if I hadn't spotted you." Then added glancing over his shoulder, "Mind telling me how you got there in the first place kid?"

For a few seconds Mark just stared blankly back not quite sure where to begin. Then slowly he relayed his story. When he finally finished he noticed the deep frown on Will's face.

"Who was shooting at you?"

Mark shrugged. "I don't know. Everything happened so fast. All I remember is the bullet hitting the water next to Marshal Torrance, and Pa yelling at me to take cover. Next thing I knew I was in the water."

"Marshal!" Will said sharply, his head snapping up as if startled.

Mark looked at him strangely. "Yes."

"What were you doing traveling with a Marshal?"

He nervously continued, "Nothing, I mean we were just riding back home to North Fork, that's were I live. Micah, I mean Marshal Torrance and my Pa are good friends."

A thick silence followed as Will seemed to be taking in the information. Without another word he went and retrieved a can of beans from his saddle bags. Opening it up with a knife, he set the can on the embers to warm. While he went about his task, Will appeared tense and deep in thought.

"Is something wrong?" Mark ventured after several minutes of silence.

Mark's voice seemed to startle him momentarily. He shook his head then got up abruptly and left the campsite. A few minutes later he returned carrying Mark's clothes.

"Here, you can put these back on, they're dry now," he said tossing the buddle to him. "Your jacket's still damp, though."

After a brief awkward moment, he left Mark alone again to change. As he was putting on his shirt, Mark noticed one of the buttons was missing. Since there was nothing he could do about it, he quickly finished dressing. The morning air was still cold so Mark wrapped the blanket back around his shoulders and waited patiently for Will to return.

He came back a few minutes later, still appearing distracted by something. After several minutes of awkward silence, Mark ventured softly, "Will?'

"Yeah."

"Are we still near the river?"

He shook is head. "Couple miles away."

Mark was taken aback, and then blurted, "But, I need to get back!"

Will turned and stared down at this scrap of a boy and something about his behavior made Mark feel uneasy again. "Sorry, but that's not going to be possible just yet," he said in a flat tone.

Mark jumped to his feet in protest. "But my Pa! He'll be looking for me!"

Suddenly, there was a strange ringing in his ears and everything started spinning about. Mark let out a moan and felt himself falling.

Will reached over to steady him. "Hey, easy kid!"

He was helped down to the ground and his head was forced between his knees. It took several seconds for the ringing to clear as Mark sat holding his head. He felt shaky and weak and his stomach was doing strange flip flops. Finally he raised his head slowly.

Seeing Mark's pale face, Will got up and returned a few seconds later pressing some food in his hand.

"Here, you better get something in your belly," he said softly.

But Mark shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

Will insisted. "You should eat a little something to get your strength back up."

Reluctantly he took the food, but after only one bit his stomach suddenly heaved and to Mark's embarrassment he started retching uncontrollably. Will held him as Mark threw up a large amount of river water. His whole body shook with spasms and it was several minutes before the nauseating sensation subsided leaving him spent.

Will laid him back down and tucked the blanket back around him. Mark huddled miserably his eyes closed. "Please, I need to find my Pa."

Concern washed over Will. Gently he placed a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Look, there's a couple of things I gotta figure out first, and you're still a pretty shaky. Why don't you try to rest a little while more, then we'll talk, okay?"

Mark, feeling too weak at the moment to do otherwise, reluctantly nodded. He pulled the blanket tightly around him shivering. He was so very tired and it was becoming harder to think. Before Mark knew it, sleep had overtaken him.

Will stayed by his side until he was sure the boy was fast asleep and in no danger of vomiting again then left the camp for a short time to scout around. Re-assured that everything was quiet, he returned to find Mark still asleep. With little else to do at the moment, Will settled back down and took out a pocket knife and a piece of wood and absently started whittling. The boy's story had left him uneasy.


	7. Chapter 6: Mark's Discovery

**Chapter 6: Mark's Discovery**

The sun was a little higher in the sky when Mark woke again. Scanning the clearing, he thought he was alone again but then spotted Will standing with his back to him several yards away, feet shoulder width apart and his hand hovering near the leather sheath holding his pistol. With a quick fluid movement he flipped the pistol out, paused and re-holstered. He watched him repeat the process several times, apparently unaware Mark was awake.

With curiosity getting the better of him, Mark slowly rose to his feet, thankful this time there was no spinning sensation. His stomach also felt better. But as he started walking across the campsite, he stepped on a twig which made a large cracking sound in the quiet clearing.

Immediately Will spun about and Mark stepped back startled as he found himself staring down the barrel of a nickel-plated six-shooter.

Will immediately raised the gun out of his face. "Don't ever sneak up on me like that again! You nearly got yourself killed!" he snapped harshly.

"I…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle ya," Mark apologized. Will's face was pinched into an angry scowl. "I just wanted to see what you were doin' that's all."

Sighing irritably, Will re-holstered the weapon. "Forget it." Then added a little softer, "I'm sorry I yelled out you. Guess I'm just a little edgy."

Looking the kid up and down, Will was pleased to see he had a little more color. "Feeling better?"

Mark nodded.

"You gave me quite a scare there."

"I'm sorry." Mark glanced over at the gun belt. "So, what were ya doin'?"

Will shrugged almost as if a little embarrassed. "Just practicing. Like to keep my skills up."

"Can I watch?" Mark asked. He always enjoyed watching his father practice with the rifle. What his father could do with a rifle, few men could manage with a pistol.

Will shrugged again. Mark settled down to watch as Will practiced, whipping the six-shooter out fast and easy then did a couple of fancy spins for Mark's benefit before flipping it back into the holster.

Mark was dually impressed. Smiling, he said, "Gee that was great Will. Where'd ya learn to do that?"

"Picked it up here and there," Will replied, nonchalantly, although there was a slight sheepish grin on his face.

"You sure are fast. Almost as good as my Pa."

Will brow's knitted together curiously. "Oh? Your Pa's pretty good?"

Mark nodded. "But he doesn't use a pistol. He uses a rifle."

Will laughed. "No man with a rifle can outdraw a pistol kid."

"My Pa can. He's about the best there ever is," Mark said matter-of-factly.

Will looked skeptically down at him, but Mark was too busy admiring the Colt to notice. "Rifle ain't nothing compared to a Colt .45."

"You don't know my Pa's rifle. He designed it himself. Probably not another one like it anywhere," Mark said with pride. Will frowned.

"Sure is a beauty, Will," Mark said.

Seeing his interest, Will held it out to him. "Want to hold it?" Mark looked up hesitantly, biting his lip. Reluctantly he shook his head. "Go on, what are ya waiting for? Scared?"

Mark look indignantly at him. "'Course not! It's just that my pa doesn't approve of me handlin' a pistol."

Smirking somewhat, Will replied, "I've been handling one since I was near on fourteen. My fingers were so small I could barely cock the hammer." Unloading the bullets from the chamber, Will extended the gun out to him. "Here, go ahead. It can't hurt you now."

With renewed interest, Mark slowly took it. It felt heavy in his hand as he examined it closely. It truly was a beautiful gun. "Where'd ya get it?" he asked, fingering the ivory handle which had a star burst designed etched into it.

"My uncle gave it to me a long time ago. But, I had to keep it hidden from my pa."

"Why?"

Will merely shrugged. "Pa and my uncle never got on too well," was all Will would say.

Mark examined the heavy pistol for several minutes, but he felt a little dishonest going against his Pa's wishes. With thoughts on his father once again, Mark carefully handed the gun back. Will saw the sudden change in his expression as he reloaded the bullets into the empty chamber and replaced the gun in its holster.

They stood awkwardly for a moment, but just then Will's horse whinnied, making the young man dart his head towards the sound. Walking over, he quieted the horse with a gentle stroke to the muzzle as he glanced about.

Again Mark thought his behavior odd but his attention was once more focused on finding his father. "Will, you said we would talk later about takin' me back to the river," Mark broached the subject hesitantly.

The young man sighed. "I know, but it's kinda complicated."

"Why?" Mark paused. "Is somethin' wrong?"

Will stared at him. "Why do you ask that?"

Mark shrugged. "Ya just seem kind of nervous like you're expectin' someone to jump out after ya."

Rubbing the back of his neck tiredly, he replied, "Guess I am at that." Without elaborating further, he walked back over to the campfire and picked up the canteen shaking it gently. "Gonna need more water. There's a small spring not far from here."

Mark bit his lip but clearly wasn't about to give up. "My Pa's gonna be real worried when he can't find me," he insisted.

"I know, but for now you need to stay with me, least till I can figure this out."

His head snapped. "But why? I don't understand," Mark pressed with a hint of stubbornness.

Will suddenly got down in Mark's face. "Look kid, I'm probably in a heap already because of you!"

Mark's mouth compressed irritably, unsatisfied with Will's answer. Seeing the stubborn streak in him, Will added sternly, "It's just the way it's gotta be for now." He refused to elaborate.

Frustrated, Mark stormed back over to his bedroll and sat down. He needed to find his father and couldn't understand why Will was being evasive.

Then to Mark's surprise, Will said, "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Where are you going?" Mark asked anxiously.

"Never you mind. You just stay put, ya hear? This is no place for you to wander off and get lost."

"I can take care of myself," Mark insisted crossing his arms defiantly.

"Like ya did back in the river?"

The remark seemed to shut Mark up momentarily, but he still glared back at Will indignantly.

"I won't be gone long," Will said and departed before Mark could get another word out.

Immediately after Will left though, Mark was on his feet. Though he had no idea which direction the river was, he was determined to find his pa with or without Will's help. Perhaps he could follow Will's trail back to the river. Lucas had taught him a lot about tracking and he was pretty good at it, even for a kid.

Mark found his jacket draped across a branch. It was almost dry. As he was putting in on, he felt something bulging in the pocket. He reached in and pulled the object out. It was the snake charm Billy Whitefeather had given him only yesterday. He stared at it for several seconds before carefully replacing it. Mark looked around for his hat, but guessed he'd lost it in the river.

Just as he was heading out of the campsite Will returned. "Where are you going Mark?"

Mark gave Will a determined look. "Back to the river!"

Resting his hands on his gunbelt Will said, "I thought I told you to stay put."

"No!" Mark said firmly. "I don't know why you won't take me back, or what you're afraid of, but I need to find my pa!"

With that, Mark started to walk past him only to be grabbed by the forearm. "Look, this isn't a game!" Will said harshly. "Havin' you here with me is the last thing I need right now, but I just can't let you wander off and get lost."

But Mark would not be swayed. Stubbornly he compressed his lips. "Then take me back."

"It's not that easy."

Will released him and paced irritably back and forth. "I should have never brought you here!"

Will was angry, but Mark couldn't decide whether the anger was directed at Mark or himself. Finally he seemed to come to some sort of decision. Walking over he put his hands firmly on Mark's shoulders. "Look, I'll take you back and help you find your Pa but you gotta promise me one thing."

"What?"

"That you won't say anything about me."

Mark frowned, confused. "But why Will? I don't understand. You saved my life."

But Will shook his head. "I need your solemn word. You can't mention anything about me, to your Pa or….or the Marshal, understand?"

Mark stared at Will perplexed. "You're in some kind of trouble, aren't you?"

Will laughed but it was without humor.

"I've never kept secrets from my Pa," Mark stated matter-of-factly. It was true. He and his father had always had that understanding between the two of them.

But Will was insistent. "It's the only way. If I let you go I'm taking a big risk. Not just for myself but……" Will let the rest of the sentence drop. He gripped Mark's shoulders a little tighter. "You've got to give me your solemn word."

Mark swallowed. There was such intensity in his plea that Mark felt he had little choice. "All right Will, whatever you say," he agreed reluctantly.

Will nodded and released him. He hesitated, still seeming uncertain of his decision. "Wait here while I saddle my horse."

Mark bit his lip. Whatever Will had done it couldn't have been that bad, could it? Maybe his Pa and Micah could help him out. After all he had saved Mark's life and Mark felt a strong sense of gratitude.

"Will…" Mark started to say something else but was interrupted by the sound of fast approaching hooves.

Will turned abruptly at the sound and cursed. Without further word he grabbed Mark and quickly ushered him over to the far side of the camp concealing him behind a large boulder.

"What is it?" Mark asked seeing the urgent look on Will's face.

Will gripped his shoulders. "Listen to me carefully," he said tersely. "I want you to stay right here out of sight, do you hear?"

"But why?"

"I don't have time to explain. Just do as I say! Stay here and keep quiet until I come for you!"

"All right," Mark replied confused by Will's abruptness.

Quickly turning, Will hurried back across the clearing as three men rode up hard into camp. As they dismounted Mark heard one of them bark out sharply, "I want to pull out in an hour!" His was clearly annoyed, his manner authoritative. "Will, get us some grub, we're starving. And bring me a whiskey bottle and some cloth strips."

"Lloyd, I need to talk to you." Mark heard Will say.

"Later!" the man snapped. "We've been riding hard since before dawn."

But Will seemed to hesitate looking a little perplexed. Then Mark heard him ask. "Where's Smitty?"

"Dead!" was the man's terse reply.

Will stood dumbfounded, apparently startled by the news.

The man called Lloyd glared angrily at Will. "Well, don't just stand there like an idiot! I said bring me the whiskey!"

Daring to peek a little further from behind the rock, Mark watched as Will retrieved the bottle then took a closer look at the rest of the men. Like Lloyd, they seemed to have a hard core presence about them that made Mark's inside's flutter. One of them glanced briefly over at Will as if in warning before turning to the task of unsaddling his mount. The other man stood agitatedly nearby. Older than the rest, he was shorter and thicker in the waist and chest with his belly hanging slightly over his belt.

Grabbing the bottle from Will, Lloyd twisted the cork off with his teeth. After taking a big swig he walked over to a large rock and sat down, pulling off his jacket.

"Listen Lloyd….." Will started, then stopped short. "What happened?" It was then he noticed the man's shirt sleeve was torn and covered in dried blood.

"Isn't it obvious? We ran into some trouble." Lloyd was glaring angrily at the pudgy man nearby. Grimacing he removed the dirty neckerchief from the wound.

"You've been shot!" Will declared. When he tried to examine the wound Lloyd merely jerked his arm away in disgust.

"Let it be. The bullet only grazed me." Taking one more gulp, Lloyd proceeded to pour the whiskey over the wound, gritting his teeth against the burning pain. Mark watched from his concealment as Will then applied clean cloth strips around the man's arm.

The pudgy man was already pacing anxiously back and forth. Addressing Lloyd, Mark heard him say, "I still say we should head for the border. It's less than a half day's ride from here."

"We're not going anywhere Roark until we settle our business."

"I'm telling you its too dangerous," the one called Roark replied agitatedly. "There's lawmen all over the area. They'll be on us for sure and I'm not about to go back to Galveston to be hung," he continued forcefully.

Lloyd got up into the man's face. "You're not going to weasel your way out of this Roark. I went to a lot of trouble to bust you out. We go on as planned," Lloyd snapped. "Most likely whoever's after us probably thinks were still heading for the border anyway which is fine by me. Once I get what's due me and we get up into the high country no one will be able to track us. After that it's a clean stretch into Taos. We can lay low as long as we need to and no one will ever know."

"I don't like it!" Roark argued. "That marshal was way too close."

The statement clearly seemed to annoy Lloyd all the more. "Listen you sorry piece of flesh, we would have never had the problem in the first place if you'd laid low like I told you!"

"_I don't like Marshals_," the second man countered, emphasizing each word.

"And I don't like men who don't follow my orders. Because of your itchy trigger finger I lost a good man and nearly got my head blown off!"

Roark growled something back that Mark couldn't hear.

"What happened Lloyd?" Will asked.

Lloyd glanced over at Will and explained. "After we split up and lost that posse out of Branagan, we ran into a couple more lawmen on the way back here. Some old marshal I've never seen before and another fella, a big guy with some sort of fancy rifle."

From his hiding place, Mark's eyes widened. "Pa!" he whispered.

Lloyd jerked his thumb irritably at the other man. "Roark here decided to take them out instead of staying out of sight."

Suddenly Mark realized what was going on. They were outlaws! And Will was part of their gang! Now he understood Will's reluctance to take him back to the river. He also understood with a sinking realization that these were the men who must have been shooting at them. He also wondered if his Pa was okay.

The men stepped further away as they took the horses to the other side of the clearing where a tether line was set up. Will said something Mark couldn't quit make out which apparently didn't set well with Lloyd. Only able to make out bits and pieces of the conversation, he looked about. Somehow he needed to get closer. He noticed a group a trees on the other side of the clearing.

Carefully he moved from behind the rock and around the parameter of the camp staying low. The men had there backs to him, and the shadows and low scrub hid his progress. Mark finally positioned himself behind a large tree. He was now less than fifteen feet away and could make out their conversation clearly.

"I'm telling you they had the make on us," Roark insisted. "I would have gotten them too except for that big guy. That trick rifle shot off rounds as fast as a pistol. I've never seen shootin' quit like it." Roark looked over at Will. "It was him that got Lloyd and took Smitty out."

"All I know is, until our business is settled, I don't want to tangle with him or that marshal again if we can avoid it, understand? Let's just hope they're too busy trying to fish that kid out of the river to bother with us."

"Kid?" Will's head snapped up.

Roark nodded. "Yeah, they had a kid with them." He laughed meanly. "When we started firing, it was just pure dumb luck the brat fell off his horse into the river. We high tailed it out of there in a hurry. Then, spent the rest of the night back-tracking it back here."

"Lloyd, I think you should know something first." Will said.

"What is it? You run any problems getting the supplies?" Lloyd asked suspiciously.

"No, and I got the wire off just like you said." Will said. "Still don't know what we needed all that stuff for though."

"You'll find out soon enough," Roark jeered and grabbed the whiskey bottle out of Will's hand. He took a large swig and wiped his mouth sloppily with the back of his hand.

Lloyd got up. "Now what about that grub?" he said.

Realizing the danger he was in, Mark back slowly away from the camp intent of making it back to the river alone. When he thought he was far enough away he turned only to barrel right into something solid. Arms reached out and grabbed him.

"Well, what do we have here?" the man asked. Mark had been so intent on listening to the conversation that he didn't realize the third man had disappeared and snuck up on him.

"Listen Lloyd, about that kid…." Will had started to say but was interrupted by Lloyd's exclamation, "What the heck is this now!"

Will spun about to see Mark being escorted into camp by the scruff of his collar. He was shoved unceremoniously to the ground in front of Lloyd.

"Found him snooping about behind the tree over there," Briggs replied.

Roark's eyes widened "It's him! That kid with the marshal!" He took an angry step towards the boy.

Will stepped between them as Mark scrambled hurriedly to his feet. "I can explain…" Will began.

"What the hell is he doing here?!" Roark demanded

Lloyd crossed his arms. "I think you have some explaining to do Will," he said quietly but the underlying tone clearly spoke of his displeasure.

"That's what I was trying to tell you," Will tried to explain.

With the weight of several accusing sets of eyes on him, Will quickly relayed his story. When he finished he said, "I'm sorry Lloyd, but what was I suppose to do? I just couldn't leave him out there to die."

"That's precisely what you should have done," the outlaw barked back.

Roark rounded on. "Why you stupid no good punk! Now we're gonna have that marshal after us for sure!" He made a grab for Will but Lloyd barred his way with on outstretched arm.

"Save it!" Lloyd snapped cursing at everyone.

But Roark was livid. "Listen here, blood or no blood I'm not gonna let some stupid punk kid lead the law right to us!"

It was then Lloyd got up into Roark's face, his lips compressed into an angry line. "As I said before none of this would have happened if you hadn't been trigger happy in the first place so back off!"

Roark grumbled sourly as Lloyd turned his attention back to Will. "Were you seen by anybody? Followed?" he demanded.

"No," Will insisted. "I'm sure I wasn't followed, I swear. The kid was alone and half dead when I found him. They probably think he's drowned by now anyway."

"For our sakes you better damn well hope so because you've just created one hell of a mess!"

"I'm sorry Lloyd."

The outlaw leader grunted at Will then glared over at Mark. "Come here, kid!"

Mark hesitated briefly, looking from Will back to the older man, but then squared his shoulders and stepped forward. Feeling his arms tremble, he quickly hooked his thumbs into his back pockets trying hard not to show his fear.

"So I suppose you figured out just who we are?"

"You're a bunch of outlaws," he said boldly.

One brow rose slowly. "Precisely."

Raising his chin in the air, he looked straight at Lloyd. "Mister, my pa will be looking for me."

"Your Pa? You don't say?" Lloyd mocked.

"Yes sir." Mark hurriedly added, "My Pa, well, he's one of the best trackers around these parts. He won't stop until he finds me!"

Lloyd laughed meanly, nodding his head towards Will. "Gutsy and polite." He paused. "So, Will says he saved your life, that right?"

"Yes sir." Mark looked over at the younger man. "I'm beholding."

"Well, Will always did have a soft touch. Of course it doesn't go well with bein' an outlaw. I've warned him before it gets him nothing but trouble but it appears my nephew has failed to learn that lesson as yet."

Nephew? Mark glanced quickly from Lloyd to Will who was looking uneasily down at the ground.

Then without warning, Lloyd reached out and grabbed Mark by the back of the neck. As the steel grey eyes came level with his, Mark's widened in trepidation. "I want some straight answers, understand? What was your pa doing ridin' with the Marshal? What were they after?"

"Nothing."

He winced as Lloyd squeezed his neck. "Don't lie to me!"

"I'm not, honest mister. My Pa's owns a ranch in North Fork. We were just on our way home."

Lloyd looked skeptical. "For bein' just a rancher, your daddy's pretty good with that rifle. A little too good," he paused glancing down at the bloody sleeve.

"You don't believe this kid, do you?" Roark demanded. "Seems too much of a co-incidence that marshal bein' in the area."

"If your pa's just a rancher why is riding with a federal marshal? How many more of them are there?"

"No one else, I swear. My pa and Micah, I mean Marshal Torrance are good friends. Micah finished his business early so we all decided to ride back home together, that's all."

"What business?"

"I don't know, Micah didn't say," Mark winced.

Lloyd watched him closely for any signs that he was lying then abruptly released him. Though his neck hurt like the dickens Mark stood straight refusing to rub it. The outlaw paced back and forth, his brow was knitted down in a deep frown.

"What is it?" Briggs asked.

"Something about that big sodbuster and that fancy rifle has been bothering me ever since we ran into him."

"What of it?"

He looked down at Mark, studying him intently. "What's your daddy's name, boy?" Lloyd wanted to know.

Mark told him.

"McCain?"

"Yes, sir."

Several moments passed. Lloyd's mouth turned grimly down. "You know kid, heard once about a man with a rifle like that around these parts. They even had a nickname for him, called him the Rifleman, I believe. Now, that wouldn't be any relation would it?"

Mark nodded. "Yes sir. That's my pa." Mark said proudly.

Briggs whistled softly.

"Well now, that does present us with quite a problem." Lloyd rubbed his whiskered chin, his lips thinning grimly. "McCain and that rifle have got quite a reputation, one I don't necessarily want to tangle with if I don't have to. But we can't afford for he or that Marshal to find out about us now……"

Will, who was standing behind Mark, instinctively placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. "What are you saying, Lloyd?"

Roark laughed, "What do you think! The brat's a loose end we can't afford. We need to get rid of him!"

Beneath Will's fingers, he felt Mark stiffen. "But he's just a kid!"

"Yeah, just a kid with McCain for a daddy and a Marshal friend to boot!" Lloyd said ominously.

Will stepped in front of Mark. "But you can't Lloyd," Will insisted.

"Oh, fixin' on stopping me?" Lloyd jeered. The sudden tension in the air became so thick you could almost cut it with a knife.

"If I have to," Will said stepping in front of Mark, his hand slipping tentatively down to his holster. Lloyd's left eyebrow rose slowly. "Look, we can still ride out like we planned. We'll be long before they ever find him. The boy won't say anything about us, I promise."

Lloyd stared down his nephew for several long hard seconds. Then without warning he took two steps forward and suddenly hauled back and hit Will square in the jaw. Will reeled back at the impact and collided into Mark sending them both to the ground. Blood spurted from his split lip.

Lloyd towered over him with cold eyes. "If you're going to pull that on me kid you better be prepared to use it, understand!" There was a look of contempt in his eyes. "You know what your problem is, Will? You're too gullible for your own good. You really think the kid's goin' to keep his mouth shut about us? You forget I've got a hefty price on my head and Roark's got a noose waiting to be put around his neck. That Marshal's just not gonna to turn his back on that. He'll have a posse after us for sure. When are you gonna learn Will! Being soft is a luxury you can't afford! Or do I need to repeat that lesson?" Lloyd looked briefly at Mark hunched on his knees next to Will.

"No," he finally replied, unable to maintain eye contact.

Shakily Will rose to his feet and pressed a hand to his bleeding lip. He was still angry but apparently intimidated by his uncle's wrath. Lloyd let out a guttural hiss as if disgusted with the whole situation.

Mark anxiously watched the strange encounter. From the corner of his eye he could see Roark's wicked smile, apparently enjoying Will's discomfort.

Finally Lloyd had come to a decision. "All right, pack your things, boys. We're leavin' out in half an hour, soon as we get some grub."

Roark jerked his thumb towards Mark. "Want me to take care of the brat?" Mark didn't like the way Roark said that. It sent a chill down his spine.

"No. For now, he's coming with us."

Every one, including Will looked up startled.

"What purpose will that serve except to stir up a hornet's nest with the kid's old man?" Roark retorted angrily. "It's too dangerous. I say we get rid of him now!"

Lloyd threw Roark a menacing look. "Well you're not calling the shots around here, I am. The kid stays with us, for now," he repeated slowly. "Will may be right. If the kid is telling the truth and they think he's drowned they won't have any reason to come looking for us and we can put as much space between us and them as need be without drawing attention to ourselves." Lloyd looked suspiciously down at Mark. "On the other hand, if he's lying and that Marshal and McCain are part of a posse looking for us, a little insurance might not be such a bad thing. I don't want any rifle bullets flying by me again if I can avoid it. Once we've completed our business and get up into the high county, an entire posse won't be able to track us through all those canyons."

"And what will we do with the brat then?" Roark wanted to know.

"When I think we're in the clear, I'll deal with him then," was Lloyd's ominous reply. "Now do as I say, Will. Get us some grub and pack up!"

While the rest were busy eating, Will took Mark aside. "Just stick close to me kid and do as exactly as you're told." Grabbing his gear, he headed over to where the horses were tethered. Mark followed. Taking the saddle blanket, he threw it over the back of his horse.

"Will?"

"Yeah?"

"Is Lloyd really your uncle?"

Retrieving his saddle, he quipped back. "Yeah. What of it?"

Mark shrugged then bit his lip as if in thought. "I don't know. Just seems odd you'd be mix up with a gang of outlaws," he said quietly.

Will had swung the saddle onto his horse and reached under to grab the cinch strap keeping his eyes averted from Mark. "You know nothing about me kid. I'm no better than they are," he replied harshly, tightening the cinch.

"I don't think that's true. If you were really like them, you'd have never stopped to help me."

Still seething with anger Will suddenly swung around and grabbed Mark by the shoulders. Mark's eyes widened in surprise. Lloyd was right. Being soft had got him nothing but trouble his entire life! "I ain't lookin' for praises, understand?" He shook Mark roughly. "I'm in a mess of trouble because of you already! I should have left you back at the river like Lloyd said. Just keep your mouth shut and do as you're told and we'll get along just fine, understand?"

Mark nodded dumbfounded. There was such a look of hurt on his face he felt as if he'd been physically slapped. Seeing his expression, Will abruptly released him and stormed angrily off.

Left alone Mark stood still for several moments not sure what do, feeling more lost and confused than ever. When Will hadn't returned, he slowly wandered over to the other side of the campsite and sat dejectedly down underneath a tree. Drawing up his knees, he rested his elbows on them and leaned his head against the tree trunk. He closed his eyes briefly, his thoughts on his father. What do I do now, Pa? Mark thought in despair.

Distractedly, he picked up a few stones lying on the ground between his legs and began tossing them in the dirt as he contemplated his plight. The further they got from the river, Mark feared, the harder it would be for his father to find him, if ever. For all Mark knew, maybe they were right. Perhaps Lucas thought he'd already drowned. But Mark also knew his pa wouldn't give up the search easily. If only there was some way to let his father know he was alive and perhaps warn him of the danger he was in.

He looked down at the stones. Slowly, a plan was forming in his mind. It wasn't much, but it was the best he could think of for now.

Glancing over at the men he could see they were still eating and engrossed in conversation. "That brat's going to be nothing but trouble, I'm telling you Lloyd.!" Mark heard Roark snap. Lloyd leaned over and said something to him which Mark didn't catch. Whatever it was it apparently didn't set well with the outlaw who threw the remains of his coffee in the fire. Roark then pick up the bottle of whiskey and took a swig throwing Mark a menacing sideways glance.

Mark sat very still, keeping his eyes to the ground. Lloyd glanced briefly over at Mark before turning back to his meal.

Keeping one eye on the men, Mark reached over and picked up a few stones and a twig nearby. Cautiously, he arranged the stones and started etching something in the dirt.

He was almost finished when Lloyd suddenly stood up. Mark dropped the twig and sat still clasping his hands together between his bent knees to conceal his activities.

The outlaw barked over his shoulder at Will, then approached Mark. Towering above, Lloyd stared intently down causing Mark to wet his lips nervously. Holding his breath, he raised his head trying not to give himself away.

"Get up!" Lloyd demanded.

With sinking apprehension, Mark stumbled to a standing position, sure he'd been caught.

"I'm only gonna tell you this once. Give me any trouble and I'll make sure your pa will never find you, understand?"

Mark nodded. Grabbing him by the forearm, Lloyd led him over to the horses and shoved him towards his nephew. He was to ride double with Will.

"Mount up!" Lloyd ordered the men.

Mark let out a deep breath, not daring to look back or make further eye contact with the outlaws. Will mounted his horse, then helped Mark up behind.

"Let's go!" Lloyd barked.

"Hang on tight Mark!" Will said, as they set off.


	8. Chapter 7: A Tenuous Alliance

**Chapter 7: A Tenuous Alliance**

Lucas and Micah had searched almost five miles downriver without a single trace of Mark other than the hat they found the previous day. It was only when they'd reached a bend in the river where it widened out and the fast moving current slowed that Lucas found something that give him some hope at last.

"Look here Micah," he said, hurrying to a muddy embankment on the north shore which had recently been disturbed. Several gouges appeared in the mud, as if someone had been struggling up the incline and had slipped. The markings came from a single pair of boot prints but they were too large to be Mark's. However a set of drag lines followed the prints and led to a small area covered in dried leaves.

"Looks like someone was here all right," Micah said.

Lucas knelt down on one knee, his rifle butt resting on the ground. "And not that long ago either by the looks of it." Something of color caught his eye. He brushed the dried leaves aside and picked up the small object in his gloved hand. It was an ivory button. He showed it to Micah. "Mark must have been here all right," he said. "This looks like one of his buttons off his shirt."

"Somebody found him, then?"

Lucas gripped the button tightly in his fist. "Yeah. But who?"

"Whoever it was, he was alone." Micah pointed to a single set of hoof prints heading away from the river. "Trail head northwest."

Lucas nodded. Remounting Razor, he put the button in his shirt pocket feeling both relief and worry. Relief that he finally had a solid lead on his son, but with only one the one set of prints, Lucas wondered what condition the boy was in. But another thought was crossing his mind. Having already run into a determined bounty hunter and a trigger happy group of outlaws in this remote section of wilderness, Lucas also worried who else is son may be with.

Meanwhile, Mark held on tight to Will's waist as the outlaws rode up and down and around one hill after the next. For the most part Will kept stoically silent and after several hours, Mark was beginning to tire. Pretty soon his head started nodding against Will's back and his arms slackened their grip as he started to fall asleep, only to be jerked awake by a sudden shift in the horse's weight.

Eventually, the outlaws were forced to stop and rest the winded horses. The men had ridden hard the previous night, and with Mark riding double, their progress was considerably slowed. They found a small grove of ash trees and hid the horses out of sight.

The stop was none too soon for Mark as he slid wearily down to the ground. With shaky legs, he made his way over to a nearby tree and slumped against it. He was thirsty and his head hurt.

Will walked over and stared down at him. Despite his earlier resolve, he felt concern. Mark was pale and he put a hand to the boy's forehead. It felt warm. Bringing the canteen over, he made Mark drink, offered him some jerky then, told him to rest. Mark didn't argue. Exhausted from his ordeal in the river and the long day's ride, Mark put his head down. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

Lloyd watched the exchange closely before ordering Will to tend to the horses. Roark retrieved a bottle of whiskey from his saddle bag and handed the reins of his horse to Will. "Take care of this one too, boy!"

Will was about to snap something back, but Briggs interceded. "Come on I'll give you a hand."

The convict smiled with satisfaction at Will's annoyance, before uncorking the bottle. But he hadn't even gotten it to his lips before Lloyd yanked it out of his hand. "Hey!"

"I have enough trouble dealing with you when you're sober! Lay off the rock gut!"

"But I'm thirsty!"

Lloyd threw him a half empty canteen of water. "Drink this instead and quit bellyaching! We'll rest the horses for a few hours but I want someone posted to make sure we aren't being followed."

Roark took a swig of water and grimaced as if he were drinking poison. "Well don't look at me, I'm tired!" the outlaw sourly replied. He grabbed his bedroll and laid it out in the shade. With a bit of a groan, he plopped his rounded body on the ground and leaned against a log. "Get the kid to do it. I'm going to catch a few winks."

Lloyd glared down at the overweight outlaw but didn't press the issue. At least, for the moment, he'd be out of Lloyd's hair.

Back near the river, Lucas and Micah followed the tracks of the single rider heading northwest through a stretch of rocky terrain with pockets as ash and junipers. From previous hunting trips, Lucas was a little familiar with the area and seemed to recall there being a number of underground springs in the White Rock area that would offer fresh water. It would be a logical place to stop and Micah agreed that it might be worth checking out.

After scouting a few locations with no luck, Lucas' intuition paid off when they stumbled on an abandoned campsite. Crouched over the remains of a campfire, he felt the ashes on the bottom. They were still slightly warm, indicating someone had been here recently, perhaps as little five to six hours previously.

Upon further inspection they also found several sets of boot prints, including a smaller set, about Mark's size, which made Lucas' heart give a hopeful jolt. "Looks like whoever found Mark must have met up with a least three other men here."

"Could be a group of hunters or even trappers, Lucas. Game is pretty plentiful in this area this time of year."

Lucas nodded, hoping he was right. But on the far side of the campsite, Micah found something else interesting. On the ground something had been scratched lightly in the dirt, partially smeared by a boot print. It looked like the letter "M" with a small "c" anchored in the center point.

"That's the McCain brand. Mark's definitely been here alright!" But it was the three small stones stacked neatly on top of one another that made Lucas frown in concern. He recognized the sign immediately. It was a common Indian symbol indicating danger.

"What do you make of it?" Micah asked.

But Lucas shook his head. "I don't know, but at least I know he's got his wits about him."

After finishing their inspection of the camp and about to leave, Micah and Lucas heard someone say, "Well, well, well, we met again, McCain!"

Lucas and Micah spun about to see the bounty hunter sitting lazily in his saddle, gun drawn and resting lightly on the saddle horn.

"What are you doing here?" Micah demanded.

"About to ask you the same thing, Marshal," Broudy said. "Thought you weren't lookin' for Corbain."

"We weren't." Lucas replied thinly. "We found evidence my son was pulled out of the river by someone. Trail leads here."

Broudy eyed them skeptically and then swung one leg over the saddle and hopped down. "Doesn't sound much like Corbain to stop and help a kid when his own neck's on the line," he commented as he re-holstered his gun and squatted down and examined the remains of the campfire.

"And what makes you think it was him?" Micah asked.

Over his shoulder, the bounty hunter explained. "Found Corbain's trail up river. He and a couple of his men backtracked this way. Came across one of them dead." He stood back up. Looking at Lucas he said, "Guess you got one after all McCain."

Kicking the stones encircling the campfire pit, Broudy rested his hands above his gun belt. "They must have planned to meet up with someone here." He looked up at Lucas. "You think one of them might have found your boy?"

"Perhaps."

Broudy examined the hoof prints. "Tracks are heading towards the mountains. They could be trying to head into Arizona along one of the mountain passes. Lot of wilderness up there and Corbain knows every pass and blind canyon up there." Broudy cocked his head to one side. "If your boy's tangled up with Corbain and his gang, McCain, he's probably in lot of danger."

He watched the big sodbuster's jaw tighten. The bounty hunter smiled ironically. "Seems like we've got a mutual interest in Corbain after all."

Lucas stepped closer to Broudy, his mouth a thin taut line, clearly not amused. "Look here, Broudy," Lucas said, emphasizing his words with a pointed finger at the gunman's chest. "If my son is with these men, I don't intend for you to get gun happy with my boy in the middle!"

Broudy stopped smiling, his eyes hard. He was not a man that liked to be talk to, he usually did the talking. "Well it looks like you don't have much of a choice, McCain," he replied matter-of-factly. "I've been hunting Corbain too long to let him get away now! If he's got your boy and he's still alive….." Broudy saw McCain's eyes flash in fury, "It's for a reason."

"And what do you reckon that would be?" Micah asked.

The bounty hunter shrugged. "Most likely to insure them safe passage, Marshal, especially if they think they're being trailed by the law. Once they don't need him anymore….." He let the sentence trail off.

Lucas clenched his teeth.

"I hate to admit it, but he might be right Lucas," Micah said.

"Whether you or I like it or not, looks like we're after the same prize. Difference is, I know Corbain. I know how the snake thinks." The bounty hunter rubbed the twisted scar across his face, then eyed McCain intently as if coming to a decision. "Look, I'll help you get your kid back, McCain, but I'm making one thing clear now, Corbain's mine!"

After a somewhat heated discussion, Lucas and Micah reluctantly agreed to form a loose alliance with the bounty hunter. Though neither were pleased with the idea, they saw little alternative at the moment seeing how Broudy was determined to go after the outlaw with or without help. In Lucas' opinion it was better to have the bounty hunter nearby where he could be watched than to let him take off half-cocked on his own and possibly place Mark in more danger than he was already in.

"But, I'm going to make myself clear as well, Broudy," Lucas threatened. "You jeopardize my son's safety in anyway and it won't be Corbain you'll have to worry about!"

Rather than being annoyed by Lucas's threat, the bounty hunter seemed amused as he watched Lucas slide the Winchester into the leather scabbard. As the three mounted up and headed out, Broudy thought that rifle just might come in handy after all. His eyes slid to Torrance. As for the old marshal, he might be another problem. Broudy wasn't about to loose Corbain to the lawman. He already had invested too much time and energy in tracking the outlaw down to let the Marshall reap the reward. Besides, he had his own reasons for wanting Corbain alive, for now.

A short while later, the three set off together in search of the outlaw's trail.

After several more hours of riding, Lloyd finally decided to stop and make camp for the night and led the group down into an arroyo concealed in trees. On the way down his mare stumbled on some loose rocks. Lloyd cursed as he was nearly unsaddled.

Once they found a suitable place to make camp, he ordered Mark to fetch some wood for a fire while he checked the mare's foreleg. It appeared to be sound. "And stay where I can see you, you hear?" he barked over his shoulder.

Although exhausted by the long day's ride, Mark complied without argument glad to have some time alone. Will had barely spoken two syllables to him all day and Mark was beginning to wonder if he really _had_ regretted saving his life.

But there was something else troubling Mark's mind. From the bits and pieces of conversation Mark had overheard during the day's ride, it was clear the outlaws were heading for somewhere specific and Lloyd wanted to get there as fast as possible, despite complaints from the other outlaw called Roark. Whatever the case, their current route was fast taking him further away from the river and with it the hope of Lucas being able to find him. Mark's only hope was to keep trying to leave a trail as much as possible without getting caught.

Collecting some sticks for the fire, Mark got another idea. Glancing quickly back to make sure no one was watching, Mark headed a little ways back up to the top of the arroyo and looked quickly about. At last he found just what he needed. Breaking a branch from a small scrub tree he left if hanging then ripped a small strip of cloth from his shirt tail and tied it around the branch.

Afraid of being gone for too long he hastily tucked his shirt back in his pants and quickly went about collecting the rest of the wood before hurrying back towards camp.

He'd almost returned when he was suddenly grabbed from behind. Startled, Mark dropped the wood as Roark spun him about. When he tried to wiggle free the convict gripped his arm tightly. "What are you up to boy?" He growled menacingly.

"Nothing, honest," Mark lied. "I…I was just getting the wood like Lloyd told me."

"You better not be lying to me brat!" Roark threatened, tightening his meaty fingers around Mark's arm even more making him wince.

"You're hurting me!"

A slow smile appeared across the outlaw's face, apparently enjoying Mark's discomfort. In his other hand he held a whiskey bottle and after swirling it around took a large swig. Looking smugly down he jeered, "Afraid of me, ain't ya brat?"

"No. I try not to be afraid of anybody."

Roark laughed. "Liar." He took another gulp of whiskey and then wiped his fat sagging mouth with the back of his hand. Mark cringed in disgust. "You don't fool me ya know. Lloyd may believe that cock-and-bull story about your daddy and that marshal but I ain't that stupid!"

"What do…do ya want?" Mark asked stubbornly.

Roark mouth turned downward, clearly annoyed. "Don't get cocky with me brat! Let's just say I came to give you a bit of friendly advice." He leaned down until he was inches away from Mark's face. Mark could smell the sour odor of whiskey on the outlaw's breath as he spoke. "I still don't know why Lloyd wants to keep you around." Roark eyes narrowed into beady little slits. "But ya better not dare and cross me boy. I ain't going back to prison where there's a noose waiting for my neck! I'll be watching and it'll be my pleasure to get rid of ya, understand!" His shook Mark's arm to emphasize his point.

Mark nodded his eyes wide. Roark released him then watched with amusement as Mark hastily gathered the wood and scurried back to camp. Roark laughed out loud at Mark's retreat and took another swig of whiskey.

Back at the campsite, Mark dropped the wood off then hurried to give Will a hand with the horses, wanting to put as much distance between him and the rest of the outlaws, but especially Roark. His was praying the outlaw wouldn't discover the trail marker he'd left behind.

Will wondered about Mark's sudden skittishness and was about to ask him what was wrong when he saw Roark re-enter the camp and glance over at the boy chuckling. Then he understood all too well. His mouth thinned with displeasure. He'd be glad when Lloyd and Roark were through with their business. Ever since they busted Roark out of that prison wagon things had gone from bad to worse. Over the past few weeks of riding together it hadn't taken long for Will to discover that Roark had a vulgar nasty temper, made worse when he drank, but in Will's opinion he also seemed a little touched in the head too, paranoid about being caught.

The four had barely managed to escape a posse a few weeks ago after one of Roark's drunken encounters in a local saloon had drawn suspicion from the local law. It was the reason Will had been sent alone for supplies when Lloyd attempted to loose the posse out of Branagan and keep a low profile by avoiding any towns.

Grabbing his bedroll, Roark tossed it on the ground. Stretching out his over-sized frame, he gave a weary sigh. Lifting the bottle, he swirled the contents and took another belt.

Lloyd came over and tapped him on his leg with the tip of his boot looking sternly down at him. "Thought I told you to lay off that rock gut!"

Roark squinted one bleary eye up at Lloyd as he wiped his pudgy mouth. "I'm only washing the trail dust away!" He pointed a drunken finger at Will, "You better keep an eye on that brat sonny boy. Found him trying to sneak off."

Will looked quickly down at Mark who tried his best not to look guilty in front of everyone, but especially Lloyd. "I was gathering wood like I was told, that's all."

As Lloyd eyes narrowed hardly on Mark, Will quickly led him away telling Lloyd he needed some help with the horses.

"What's that all about?" Will demanded.

"Nothing" Mark denied.

"I thought I told you to stay clear of Roark?" he snapped. It was clear Will's mood hadn't improved. If anything, he seemed more uptight.

"I was!"

An uncomfortable silence followed as Mark helped Will unsaddle the horses. They then lead them down to a small stream a short walk from their campsite to be watered. "Wait here while I get the canteens," Will told him shortly, barely giving him a second glance.

Mark merely nodded then went over and sat down on a dead log nearby, his legs still a little shaky from his encounter with Roark. He hated even to think what Roark would have done if he'd caught him leaving that trail marker. But it was still a risk he was willing to take if it meant his Pa would be able to find him all the faster.

As Mark sat, he slowly became aware of the sounds of the evening, crickets chirping, the buzz of night insects in the air and the gentle trickle of the stream. It made him think of home and for a few minutes he allowed his mind to drift off into pleasanter thoughts.

When Will returned he saw the far off look in Mark's eyes and curiously watched him for several minutes until Mark became aware of his presence. He sat straight up, his expression at once becoming guarded again.

"What were you thinking?" Will asked. The question startled Mark momentarily. Had Will discovered what he'd done? Mark looked guiltily away and Will frowned at his reaction. "You seemed pretty deep in thought, there."

"Oh." Mark visibly relaxed. He shrugged. "I was just thinking about home."

Mark glanced down at the slow moving stream, his eyes focusing on a leaf caught in a small whirlpool in the stream. Will crouched down and started to refill the canteens. "North Fork right? You said your Pa owns a ranch there."

Mark nodded. "It isn't a very big place, but Pa and I are sure happy there." And they were. Mark wished more than anything he could be back there right now.

"What's special about it?"

Mark looked at him trying to decide how he should answer. Finally he shrugged. "I don't know. Everything I suppose. Riding the range, chasing strays, helping Pa mend the fences, taking care of the stock."

"Sounds like a lot of sweat for very little reward to me kid." Will mocked.

Mark shot him a defensive glance then looked away.

Will sighed. "I'm sorry, Mark, guess that came out the wrong way. Was never much good at making conversation." There was an uneasy silence.

Mark wasn't quite sure how they got into the conversation, maybe Will was trying to make Mark feel more at ease, or maybe he was a little bit interested, but before he knew it, Mark found himself telling Will about their place and how he and his father had first settled in North Fork.

They'd been passing through North Fork when they discovered the old Dunlap place was for sale. It had been just what they were looking for and bought it from Judge Hanoven. But that had only been the start of their troubles as it turned out.

While the horses drank from the stream, Will had stretched out against a dead log. "Why, what happened?"

Mark told him about Mr. Jackford. He was a large cattle baron that had been using the abandoned ranch as open range for winter grazing. He wasn't very happy to learn Lucas had bought the place and his men had tried everything to run the McCains off their land.

Mark's mouth tightened bitterly as he remembered the events. They'd taken Lucas' rifle, then dragged his father around on the end of a rope trying to intimidate him. When that hadn't worked, Jackford's men had burnt their house down. Mark had been forced to watch the whole thing, hating not being able to help.

But few men really understood how stubborn his father could be, especially when it came to holding onto what was his. He'd refused to be run off his own property and went after them. When he returned, he had his rifle back and the next day Jackford's men showed up with a wagon full of lumber and had rebuilt the house. Mark had never been so proud of or so scared for his Pa all at the same time.

"After that, Mr. Jackford left us alone," Mark said with considerable pride.

Mark's story made Will begin to see just what kind of determined man Lucas McCain could be. He wondered if his uncle really knew what he was going up against.

The McCains then got down to the business of running a ranch. Will listened to the pride in Mark's voice as he talked about working side by side with his father. It was something so unfamiliar to him, the exact opposite of his own childhood.

The McCain's shared everything, including the work. By the time he was ten, Mark could already handle a buckboard and team on his own. He knew how to rope and brand the yearlings and how to repair most things that needed to be fixed on a working ranch.

But it was the end of the day he liked best. Once the supper dishes were done, he and his pa would often sit outside on the porch. His pa would light his cigar and they'd watch the sun set along the mountain ranges in the distant until they were a mere silhouette against a silver sky. Sometimes they'd talk and sometimes no words were ever needed.

Will was watching Mark's face as he talked. "Guess you and your pa get along pretty good?"

"Pa's the best man I've ever known!" Mark replied with pride.

"What about your ma?"

Mark stroked one of the horses gently. "She died…. a long time ago. I barely remember her sometimes. It's just been the two of us ever since." He smiled and continued. "But Pa's told me a lot about her. He's got a picture of her at home he keeps by his chair. She was awful pretty."

Will picked up a few stones here and there and began tossing them in the water.

Mark looked at Will. "What about you?"

The young outlaw shrugged. "Not much to tell. I lost my ma when I was pretty young too. I remember a little bit about her though. She always seemed sad. Then about a year and a half ago my Pa got himself killed."

A short silence followed.

"I'm sorry Will," Mark said genuinely.

Will looked away, his face closing over. "Well don't be. Pa and I were never very close to begin with. He was nothing but a saloon drunk anyway!" Despite his feigned indifference there was bitterness in his voice.

A piece of bark bobbed along in the stream. Distractedly Will threw a couple of stones at it. The water splashed and one of the horses jerked its head up, startled. Mark stroked the animal's muzzle and it settled back down to finish drinking. The silence continued.

Mark found the young outlaw interesting, and curiosity finally got the better of him. "Will, can I ask ya something?" When he didn't say anything, Mark continued, "Do ya like being an outlaw?"

Will looked at him strangely, "What kind of question is that?"

"I don't know. Just curious I guess."

Will shrugged. "It's okay I guess. Least it's better than what I had growing up."

Mark gnawed on his lip in thought. "But don't ya ever get tired of always being on the run, I mean. Never having a place to call your own?"

Will scraped the dirt aside looking for more pebbles. "It's not so bad traveling with my uncle, kinda exciting really. My uncle likes living on the edge, taking chances, but he's smart, real smart. He knows how to pull a job without anyone getting hurt." At least that's how Will had always pictured Lloyd. He gathered another handful of pebbles.

"So is that what you like too, living on the edge?"

Will shrugged again, throwing another stone, annoyed to have missed the piece of bark. He hadn't thought about it much, he told Mark. Mark thought maybe he had.

"You're not like them you know." Mark finally said matter-of-factly.

"What do you mean?"

"Hard like them I mean." Will's jaw clench defensively and he hurriedly added. "Don't get mad. What I mean is you're different. You have to be for stopping and saving my life. I'm grateful," Mark said sincerely.

Will threw another stone with force. This time it struck the leaf dead center. "I told you before I'm not looking for any favors. I just couldn't leave you out there to die that's all," Will said flatly.

"But your uncle would have," Mark replied softly.

The sudden rustle of leaves made Will leap to his feet and a second lately, Lloyd emerged. He was looking suspiciously at the both of them. "What's going on here?"

Thumbs hooked in belt, Will replied, "Nothing, Lloyd. The kid and I were just talking."

"We're you now?" Lloyd glanced down at Mark then back at his nephew. "Anything I should know about?"

Will stood stiffly. "No, nothing you'd be interested in."

Lloyd continued to look at his nephew for several long seconds. "I hope not. You would tell me if there was?"

A thick silence followed. Mark could feel the tension between the two men. Eventually Will broke the silence. "Sure, Lloyd, you know I would."

His uncle just nodded as if they'd had a silent understanding, then became all business again. "Grubs ready. Finish up and get something to eat. I want to head out at first light."

"All right."

With that Lloyd turned and walked away.

Once his uncle was out of sight, Will let out an angry hiss. He walked a few paces away and stood with arms crossed staring into the darkness. In the distance a coyote howled soulfully. It was pretty easy to guess there was something going on between Will and his uncle.

After a long silence, Mark finally said, "You don't seem to like your uncle very much right now, do ya?"

Will gave a short laugh, but it was without humor. He turned and stared down at this scrap of a kid who didn't seem to be afraid to speak his mind. He couldn't believe that just last night he'd found him half drowned in the middle of the wilderness.

"You sure like being direct about things, don't you?"

Mark shrugged. "Pa always told me it was best just to say what was on my mind."

Will exhaled slowly. "It's complicated. My uncle and I go a long way back. I owe him a lot."

"Can't be that good if he's turnin' you into an outlaw."

Will's angry stare made Mark think he'd said too much, but then Will relaxed into a tired frown. "Wasn't always that way."

Mark looked at him perplexed. "I'd like to hear about it…. That is if you're willing to talk."

Will looked down at him strangely. He hadn't really talked about his past with anyone. Frankly, no one had ever cared to ask. When he didn't answer right away, Mark thought he had his answer. However a few minutes later he began to speak.

"Like you I was pretty young when my ma died," Will began, "'Cept my old man didn't deal with it or me very well. He started drinking more than usual and pretty soon was blaming me for anything that went wrong with his life." Will let out a humorless laugh. "I remember how he used to tear into me something awful whenever he came home from one of his binges, calling me worthless and no good, beating me until I was black and blue. Then when he sobered up, got all sappy and crying like a baby."

The only bright spot in his life was when his uncle stopped by for a visit Will went on to say. He never knew when Lloyd would show up. And though he never stayed long and often left as quickly as he came, it gave Will something to look forward to in his otherwise bleak childhood. During his stay his uncle filled his head with wild stories, stories full of adventure and excitement, though Will was never quite sure if he believed them all. But more than that Lloyd made Will feel as if some_one_ at least gave a damn about him. His uncle made him feel special whether it was just spending an afternoon fishing at the local pond, or teaching him to play poker with a straight face. He had even once told Will that he was all the family he had left after his ma, Lloyd's only sister had died.

Whenever it was time for his uncle to leave, Will would practically beg Lloyd to take him with him, but he'd always refused saying that his life was no place for a boy.

At first Will blamed his Pa for his uncle's sudden departures. Never having gotten along well with each other to begin with, it was never long before the two of them would end up in at each other throats. Afterwards Will knew it wouldn't be long before his uncle would leave again.

After Lloyd left his pa would tear into him something awful taking whatever treat his uncle had given him and destroying it saying it came from blood money. At first Will didn't understand what he meant but later when Will learned the truth about his outlaw uncle it didn't seem to matter. He simply learned to hide whatever his uncle gave him from his father, including his first gun.

"It was Lloyd who taught me how to shoot," Will told Mark. "He would take me to a secluded canyon and we'd spend the afternoon shooting holes in cans. When Lloyd was away I'd sneak off and practice for hours just to impress him whenever he came back. It wasn't long before I got real good at it. When my pa finally found out what I was doing, he kicked me out, said he wasn't going to have a no account outlaw for a son." He paused. "Then a few days later he got himself killed in a drunken saloon fight. And do you know for what?" Will asked shaking his head bitterly. "Over a damn bottle of whiskey!" He looked out into the darkness.

Will stopped talking as if caught up in the memories of the past. "So is that when became an outlaw, after your Pa died?" Mark finally asked.

He shook his head. "Not at first. I traveled around more or less on my own for a while you know doing odd jobs here and there. But it never really paid much. When I finally decided to join up with my uncle it took me a few months to find him. At first he seemed happy to see me and it felt just like old times, you know. I was excited to be with him. And even though Lloyd kept me in the background, you know mostly as a lookout, it was great just watching him in action. He had just had a way about taking over a place and pulling off a job without a hitch and no body ever got hurt. If we did happen to get chased by a posse, Lloyd always found a way of loosing them." There was a note an adolescent pride in his voice. "He was smart, cunning and his men respected him and at first I found myself wanting to be just like him."

Abruptly Will's demeanor changed. He suddenly looked uncomfortable, even embarrassed.

"Did something happen Will?" Mark asked.

Will shrugged. "Couple of months after I joined, one of the jobs went sour." Will looked somberly down at the ground. "It was my fault. I was supposed to be on look out but I got distracted by an old woman on the street having some kind of spell. She fell down right in front of me. I was too busy with her that I hadn't noticed the two men entering the express office. Next thing I knew gunfire went off inside and all hell broke loose. We had to high tail it out of there in a hurry. Lloyd didn't even have time to get the money." He paused. "One of Lloyd's men got it in the back while we were trying to escape and it took us nearly a week to loose the posse."

"Later, once we were safe, my uncle lit into me something awful; blamed me for getting one of his men killed and the rest of us nearly caught. It was the first time I'd experience Lloyd's fury directly. And he had the right to be. I had let my stupid feelings get in the way of the job."

"Then when we….." but Will abruptly stopped talking as if there was something else much deeper bothering him he didn't want to elaborate on. He looked down at Mark and said instead, "Since then I guess my uncle hasn't trusted me much. Seems I'm always doing something to get under his skin." Distractedly Will rubbed the palm of his hand as if there was some dirt on it that he couldn't quite seem to wipe off. His voice seemed full of bitterness, and something else Mark couldn't quite discern.

"I'm sorry Will. Guess you haven't had a very good life." Then added quietly, "But it's never too late to change. At least that's what my Pa's always told me. He used to be pretty wild himself. Said he'd made a lot of mistakes too, but he changed I guess when he met my ma."

"Yeah," Will said flatly. He stood up clearly not wanting to talk anymore. "It's late. We better get back to camp."

As they started heading back Will heard the leaves rustle again. He quickly drew his gun, but this time it was only a pack rat scurrying through the brush. He gave a relieved sigh and re-holstered the pistol. "Come on," he said, glancing back into the darkness.

Micah sat by the campfire watching the bounty hunter intently. Broudy was stretched out across from them, his back propped against his saddle distractedly fingering the scar on his face.

Lucas poured some coffee into a couple of tin cups and then handed Micah one before settling down next to him. His face was covered in stubble, his eyes looked weary. Out of habit, he took the rifle and set about cleaning it and checking all the mechanisms to make sure everything was in order as he had done so many nights before.

Deep in his own thoughts, Broudy slowly became aware of Torrance watching him. "Got somethin' on your mind Marshal?"

Micah took a sip of his coffee. He took his time in answering. "As a matter of fact I do. I want to know why you want Corbain so bad."

Broudy looked at the marshal closely. "What do ya mean? Isn't a thousand dollar reward enough?"

"Oh, I expect the money is a big part of it, but I'm figuring that's not the only reason." Micah nodded at the bounty hunter's disfigured face. "I take it that scar has a lot to do with it."

Lucas looked up curiously as Micah spoke.

Broudy eyes narrowed. So the old marshal had the knack for trailing a scent. Taking a cigar out of his pocket, he bit the end off, spitting the tip into the dirt. He took his time lighting it.

"Pretty sharp marshal, ain't ya?" Broudy mocked. Then he shrugged. "Guess it don't rightly matter if you know. When I tried to bring Corbain about two years ago, he gave me this," Broudy said, indicating the scar, "plus a bullet in the gut then left me for dead. It took me two days to crawl to the nearest stink hole of a town. Then I spent the next three months flat on my back. Man does a lot of thinking when that's all he can do." The last thing he remembered before Corbain rode away was Lloyd's boot pressing down on his chest, and that cool smile of victory on his face. The dull burning pain the outlaw still felt in his gut at times was a constant reminder of what Corbain owed him. Broudy intended to collect his due and with luck a heafty bonus. "Before I'm through with him, Corbain's gonna wish he had killed me that day."

Micah and Lucas listened intently. "That's precisely what I'm afraid of. You're so caught up in your own hatred, you're gonna get yourself killed and possibly the boy."

"He won't get away from me again," Broudy stated with deadly seriousness, his eyes full of animosity.

Lucas, who had been listening to the conversation, leaned in close to the bounty hunter. "Personally, I could care less what happens between you and Corbain. But when we find him we play by Micah's rule's not yours. My son's safety comes first, understand?"

Instead of rising to McCain's threat, Broudy merely leaned back and gave him that coy smile. "Anything you say McCain."


	9. Chapter 8: Escape Attempt

**Chapter 8: Escape Attempt**

The hard packed dirt and rocky terrain heading up into the foothills or down into various canyons was proving a difficult task in tracking the outlaws, but even Broudy had to give the Sodbuster his due credit as Lucas continued to pick up bits and pieces here and there that indicated the outlaws were still heading in a northwesterly direction.

Eventually Lucas found the trail marker Mark had left behind. Examining the broken branch still sticky with sap, its position indicated the direction the outlaws had taken and soon after they found where the outlaws had made camp for the night.

"Smart kid you got there, McCain," the bounty hunter commented.

But Lucas, realizing what Mark was trying to do, was even more concerned for his son's safety than before knowing the risk he must be taking to leave the marker. But he also knew how determined his son could be. It was a McCain trait he had definitely inherited from his father. He only prayed Mark would be careful.

Broudy suspicions that Corbain intended to head for his old stomping grounds were confirmed when they discovered a hoof print coming out along one of the streambeds heading north. And, it was fresh. They were getting close.

With a renewed sense of excitement Broudy urged his horse forward. Ever since he'd learned that a certain convict by the name of Roark had mysteriously escaped from a prison wagon several weeks earlier, Broudy had a pretty good inkling who had helped him. His face twisted into a distorted smile. If Gessip had been telling him the truth, with Corbain and Roark riding together it could only mean one thing.

The wind picked up slightly from the south as the trio crossed the rolling foothills. Large clouds pushed across the sky, occasionally blocking the sun creating dark shadows on the hilly terrain. The men rode single file with Lucas in the lead.

Lloyd stopped to give the horses a rest after several more hours of what, in Mark's opinion, seemed like more endless riding over one hill and down the next until he felt like they were going in circles. He eventually asked Will where they were heading but he had refused to elaborate either because he didn't quit know himself or he didn't want to say. Either way, the answer did not satisfy Mark.

Ordering Will to keep an eye on Mark, Lloyd and Briggs took Roark aside for a little chat. The convict was in a foul mood and proving to be less than co-operative.

"Quit stalling Roark," Lloyd snapped.

"I'm not. For Christ sakes Lloyd it's been five years and I wasn't exactly paying attention to where I was going at the time."

"Don't give me that! You know this land like the back of your hand."

"Things still change over time you know. I just need to get my bearings," Roark grumbled.

Leaving the outlaws to banter among themselves, Mark walked a short distance away and stubbornly sat down in the grass on a hilly rise. Will watched him for several minutes but eventually was drawn into the conversation.

"I told you I didn't have a choice. I had the Lieutenant on my tail and a pack of Redskins chasing us down as well. What was I suppose to do? I thought I could loose them up in the canyons, then double back."

"Or maybe you just thought you'd to keep it all to yourself?"

"You're loco!"

"Am I?"

Mark surveyed the distant landscape of rolling hills as he distractedly plucked strands of grass from the ground. Several large clouds drifted in from the horizon casting shadows over the ground as they past. The cool gust of wind which followed felt good against Mark's face as he tried think about what to do next. It was then to his utter surprise he saw three riders cresting a hill in the near distance. Squinting, his heart nearly jumped in his throat as Mark recognized the tall figure on the Black in the lead instantly. It was Lucas!

Pa! Mark mouthed to himself, inwardly trembling.

Quickly he looked back at the outlaws who still had their backs to him apparently unaware of the approaching riders.

Mark's whole body shook. He wet his lips nervously. The riders were moving in an almost parallel track to where the outlaws were concealed. Somehow, he had to get his father's attention! If he could just get down the hill and over the next rise he might be close enough to signal him.

Watching the outlaws, Mark slowly stood up in a crouching position and nervously inched his way quietly down the hill. He'd almost reached the bottom when he heard Briggs shout to Lloyd, "We've got company."

Everyone spun around. In that instance, they spotted Mark near the bottom of the hill. He took one look at them and made a break for it.

"Get those horses out of sight!" Lloyd hissed as he after the boy.

The horses were quickly dragged behind a group a bushes near several large boulders. While Will kept them quiet, Roark and Briggs went back up the hill and flattened themselves on the ground in the tall grass, pistols drawn.

Glancing over his shoulder to see Lloyd in hot pursuit, Mark took off like a bolt of lightening jumping a small channel at the bottom and started climbing the smaller hill before him, his boots slipping on the loose gravel as he went. If he could just make it to the top…

Pa please be there!

But as Mark crested the hill he could see the three riders starting to turn away moving in a different direction. Lucas hadn't seen him after all.

"No!" Mark cried. Desperately he shouted "Pa! Over here!"

He saw Lucas stop and begin to turn, but a second later Lloyd tackled him to the ground. The two rolled down the hill into a ditch at the bottom nearly knocking the wind out of Mark.

When Mark tried to get up back up Lloyd grabbed him by the boot and pulled him back down. He tried to call out again but Lloyd clamped his hand over Mark's mouth and dragged him back into the channel beneath some low lying bushes.

A few minutes later Mark saw Lucas cresting the next hill followed by Micah and a third man, one Mark had never seen before.

At the sight of the stranger he heard Lloyd's whispered hiss. "Broudy!"

The men paused. Micah and the stranger held back while Lucas nudged the Black slowly forward, his eyes scanning the hillside, his rifle drawn.

Mark struggled vainly to break free. Drawing his gun, Lloyd whispered roughly in Mark's ear. "You're daddy's an easy shot from here kid. Be quiet or he's a dead man!"

Mark's eyes widened in fear as he heard the hammer being cocked. From their hiding place, Lloyd kept the pistol trained on Lucas. Mark could feel Lloyd's hot breath on his cheek, but fearing for his father's safety, kept silent.

Lucas was less than thirty feet away and Mark could do nothing. He broke into a cold sweat. The big Black pranced nervously about as his father stopped to survey the terrain. But after several seconds Mark saw Lucas' disappointed expression. Then, almost reluctantly, his father turned and slowly started moving away back up towards the other two riders. A few minutes later Mark watched forlornly as his father and the other two men turned the horses about and disappeared from sight.

Once Lloyd was sure the riders were safely gone, he released him. Mark rolled onto his stomach breathing heavily. He grabbed a fistful of dirt in frustration. Without meaning to hot tears sprung from his eyes. He'd been so close!

Lloyd grabbed the back of Mark's shirt and flipped him roughly over. "I ought to lay this gun upside your head boy!"

Mark shrunk back at the outlaw's anger. Hurriedly he wiped the moisture from his eyes and could only glare angrily at his captor as he was hauled to his feet and unceremoniously marched back up the hill.

Lloyd shoved him to the ground in front of Will, shooting his nephew a furious glance. "I told you to watch him!"

"Sorry Lloyd. I only turned my back for a second." His choice of words seemed to trigger such a look of cold fury in Lloyd that Will immediately dropped his eyes to the ground.

"I'll deal with you later!" Lloyd promised menacingly.

He stepped over to Mark, towering above him. "What's Broudy doing with your daddy and that marshal?" Lloyd demanded.

Mark eyes widened. He didn't know he was talking about.

"Broudy, who's he?" Roark demanded.

"A no-good-snake-in-the-grass bounty hunter I thought I got rid of already."

Roark whipped his head about, the jowls of his fat cheeks puffing up.

"Bounty hunter!" He looked suspiciously down at Mark. "I told you the kid was lying! They must be working together."

"No!" Mark shook his head vehemently. "I swear I've never seen that man before."

"Then what's he doing riding with them?"

"I don't know. Honest," Mark insisted, confused as the rest of them.

Roark began to pace agitatedly back and forth. "I don't like this, Lloyd. With lawmen and now a bounty hunter crawling all over the place, there's no way we can retrieve to it now. It's too risky. We need to head for the border!"

"We're not going anywhere, Roark!" Lloyd said savagely getting up into the other man's face. "I've waited five years to get what's due me and anyone who decides to get in my way now is gonna wind up dead!"

Lloyd turned and hauled Mark to his feet. "And just to make sure no one gets anymore funny ideas about tipping any one off again, you're gonna ride with me!" Mark was forced up on Lloyd's horse. The rest of the gang remounted and Mark held onto the outlaw's back for dear life as Lloyd took off with the intent of loosing their trail in a series of winding canyons nearby.

As Lucas led the men away, he turned and glanced back once more at the barren terrain. All appeared quiet, the surrounding hillsides empty, the only movement coming from the breeze bending the tall blades of grass. Lucas could see nothing out of the ordinary, yet still something didn't feel quite right.

"What is it?" Micah asked.

"I'm not sure," he replied, but raw instinct was urging Lucas to circle back.

Broudy followed with growing interest.

By late afternoon, his instincts had paid off when their search yielded a few more tracks, but dark clouds were slowly moving in and with them the threat of rain. Lucas hoped the bad weather would hold off a little longer but it wasn't to be so. Cold drops were soon hitting the men in the face, until it became a steady downpour. They rode as long as they could before they were forced to seek shelter. Bitterly they made camp and another night would have to pass for Lucas without his son.

As the rain started to fall the outlaws made camp that night in an abandoned dilapidated shack tucked into the woods which had probably been used at one time by trappers. The roof leak, the floor was cold, and the whole thing looked like it would collapse in a stiff wind, but at least they would be out of the worse of the weather.

Lloyd shoved Mark inside. "And your butt better still be here when I come back!" He glared at Will and left to help get the gear and the horses settled.

Shivering with cold, Mark sat nervously in the corner his wet hair plastered to his face keenly aware Will glaring back at him. Unable to meet his eyes, Mark stared guiltily at the ground.

"What in the blazes were you thinking Mark? That was the stupidest, the most dangerous stunt you pulled back there!" His face was pinched into tight angry lines. "You shouldn't have tried to run away."

"I guess you're pretty mad at me. I suppose I got you into more trouble with your uncle today, huh?"

His words seemed to catch Will by surprise. Slowly he squatted down in front of him. "Of course I'm mad, you stupid kid!" He saw the look of hurt on Mark's face and sighed heavily. "But not for the reason you think! You could have been hurt, possibly gotten yourself killed today!"

"I'm sorry Will. But I'd do just about anything to get back to my Pa." Mark voiced implored Will to understand. Still picturing his father's disappointed face, Will could read the sadness in the boy's eyes.

Running his fingers impatiently through his wet hair, he let out a frustrated breath. When he spoke again though, it was with concern. "Mark, promise me you won't try anymore stunts like that again. It's way too dangerous."

Averting his eyes to the ground, Mark was silent for several seconds. "I wish I could Will. I like ya, I really do. But if there's any chance in the world for me to get back to my pa, I've gotta try."

"He means that much to you?"

Mark nodded. "Yes. And I know he'll find me. Pa won't give up."

"He or you may get hurt if he tries."

"But what else can I do?"

Will put his hand on Mark's shoulder. "Just let me handle it Mark, okay? Don't go causing more trouble for yourself. You don't know my uncle, you have no idea what Lloyd's capable of." His last sentence was filled with bitterness and something else.

"All right Will."

Just then the men returned with the saddles and gear. All were dripping wet and in foul moods. Lloyd saw Will crouched in front of Mark with his hand on his shoulder and threw him an ominous look. Will quickly dropped his hand and moved a little away from the boy.

"Come and help me get these horses tethered up for the night, Will," his uncle said flatly.

Will glanced briefly at Mark, then back at his uncle. "Sure Lloyd, whatever you say."

Mark watched with trepidation as Will went back outside with his uncle, then glanced over at the other two outlaws. Briggs remained stoically silent, but Roark was grinning like a cat that had just cornered a mouse. Mark shivered, but it was not from the cold.

It seemed like a long time before Lloyd and Will returned. They said not a word and Lloyd settled down on the far side of the shack, near the door. Will took out his damp bedroll and laid down a few feet from Mark refusing to make eye contact. Before turning on his side, Mark thought he saw Will rubbing his jaw. Guilt knotted up Mark's stomach as he tried to sleep.


	10. Chapter 9: Hidden Cache

**Chapter 9: Hidden Cache**

The next morning dawned clear and bright. The outlaws broke camp and once again set off on what seemed like several more hours of endless riding. They would occasional halt and Lloyd and Roark would move up ahead out of earshot to scan the terrain before Roark would once again lead them in this direction or that.

Roark finally took them down into one of three canyon passes that were connected off the same ridgeline pass. After another hour's ride they stopped between a group of trees growing in a circular pattern and a set of twin boulders about 100 yard apart. Roark look up the rocky hillside between the two. "Up there," he pointed to where the hillside was partially sheared off exposing an outcropping of granite rocks half-way up concealed behind thick scrub brush and tall grass.

"Are you sure?" Lloyd asked.

"Course I'm sure," Roark insisted edgily. "Come on, let's get this over with and get out the hell out of here!"

Tethering the horses in the shade, the group set off on foot up the steep hill. Will was carrying three torches and a small shovel, part of the supplies he had picked up when Lloyd had sent him into town alone a week earlier. They stopped when they reached the patch of scrub trees.

"Should be through here somewhere," Roark indicated, squeezing his bulky frame through the thickets. The others followed. Just on the other side, concealed by more brush, Mark thought he saw the entrance to some sort of cave.

"What is it?" Will asked.

"Old abandoned mine tunnel," Roark smiled. "It was pure dumb luck I found it five years ago when those Redskins were on my tail."

The entrance was overgrown with weeds and looked undisturbed. With a little effort, the men were able to clear aside the brush and enter. Once inside, Lloyd lit one of the torches to illuminate the dark interior

Brushing the dust filled cobwebs aside, Roark motioned in a gruff voice. "Come on, this way," as he led the group down the dark tunnel.

But Mark had hesitated. Curiously Will glanced down at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said quickly and started to follow the group. Mark didn't like to admit it to anyone but mine tunnels made him a little nervous. He'd been trapped in one once before when he and his friend Billy had been fooling around one day. Luckily his pa had found him in time. Since then he'd always been a little uneasy around them.

They had gone perhaps thirty yards into the tunnel when Roark stopped short and started cursing loudly. Mark looked around Will's frame to see what the commotion was about. Before them the tunnel was blocked by several large boulders and a pile of debris. Cursing, Roark kicked his foot against the rocks.

Lloyd spun Roark about. "What kind of bull is this!"

"I hid it here, I tell you!" He looked at the blockage. "Damn tunnel must have collapsed."

"Well isn't that just great!" Lloyd replied coldly.

Roark looked back at Lloyd sourly. "How was I to know it would cave in? Question is what are we gonna do now?"

Lloyd waved the torch about examining the blockage. "We start digging." He handed Roark the shovel.

"Are you kiddin? That cave in could be a hundreds of feet! We could be digging here for months or the whole thing could come down on top of us any minute!"

"Well there's only one way to find out," was Lloyd's reply. "Unless you care to pay me what you owe me out of your fat stupid hide!"

Roark shot Lloyd a venomous look before taking the shovel. Over the next hour or so, the group of mean worked to remove as much of the smaller rocks and debris as possible. It was slow going and dangerous work as the slide occasionally rained small pebbles down on top of them. One torch soon burned out and they lit the second.

Finally Lloyd halted the group. "Hand me the light Will," Lloyd directed as he carefully climbed up the rubble heap. At the very top he noticed a small opening. Extending his arm he stuck the torch through. It appeared to go all the way through to the other side, the flame still burning bright.

Lloyd removed some more of the smaller rocks and dirt and after several minutes managed to make the opening a little bigger but it was still pretty narrow, blocked by several large boulders too big to be moved by hand. He tried to crawl through the opening but his shoulders were too broad.

Sweating, the outlaw climbed back down. "Will, see if you can fit through."

Although Will was quite a bit skinnier than his uncle, he still couldn't get through. "It's no use, the opening is too narrow."

Roark was pacing irritably back and forth. "Fifty thousand dollars less than fifty feet away and it might as well be across the desert for all the good it's gonna do us," the convict complained bitterly.

Mark's eyes widened. Fifty thousand dollars! He never even seen close to that much money his entire life! No wonder Lloyd had been so intent on getting here!

"Nothing short of a dynamite blast is gonna move those rocks, Lloyd," Briggs commented, "and that's likely to bring the whole mountain down for sure."

But Lloyd was looking down at Mark studying him intently. "Or one small kid," he said slowly.

"What are you talking about?" Roark snapped.

The outlaw walked slowly over and put his hands on Mark's shoulders grinning widely. "You know kid, I think you're finally gonna come in handy after all."

As Mark glanced nervously at the small opening, Will realized his uncle's intentions. "But it's too dangerous, Lloyd. What if the tunnel collapses further?"

"Then we won't have to worry about his pa finding him," Roark jeered nastily.

"No! There's got to be another way."

Lloyd shook his head, then with a single hard look warned Will not to challenge him on this one. He steered Mark over to the rock pile. "Time for you to earn your keep kid.' Before Mark could protest he was hoisted up into the passage.

Mark's much smaller frame was able to squeeze through the opening without too much effort. Then laying on his stomach, he crawled through the three foot gap. The air on the other side was stale and musty and once he climbed down to the bottom he coughed several times from the dust he'd stirred up

"I can't see anything," Mark called out trying to feel his way along the rocks.

"Stand back kid and I'll toss a torch through," he heard Lloyd say.

A moment later it landed on the other side. Mark quickly picked it up before the flame was snuffed out. It was so dark the torch only illuminated a few feet around in a murky yellowish glow. Mark could see where the large boulders had collapsed the tunnel. Several pieces of splintered wood were embedded in the rocks.

He heard movement from the other side then Roark's rough, craggy voice.

"All right kid, you do exactly like I tell you," he barked. "Go a little further down the tunnel and start looking for the support joists. On one of them you'll find two slash marks with a line on top. You got that?"

"Yes sir."

"Stand in front of those markings and look directly across and a little to the left. There you'll see some rocks stacked up against the side of the tunnel. Move them aside and start digging down."

"All…right." Mark replied nervously.

"I'm passing the shovel through." The tool clanked loudly against the rocks as it hit the ground. The sound echoed through the darkness.

"I've got it."

"Then get going and remember what I told you before, no tricks!"

With the torch stretched out in front of him, Mark cautiously made his way down the eerie tunnel, which seemed to be slopping somewhat downward as he went. The light from the torch flickered at weird angles off a now much lower ceiling.

A large groaning sound suddenly came from behind and Mark whipped around peering in the darkness behind him, gripping the torch tightly in his sweaty palms.

Realizing it was only the mountain making settling noises, it never the less made Mark edgy. Slowly he took a few steps backwards and suddenly caught the back of his boot and something solid. He fell over, dropping the torch and the shovel at them same time. Hastily retrieving the torch he swept it around to see what he'd stumbled over and let out a cry of alarm as the light fell on a grisly discover. Backing quickly up against the far wall, his heart pounding, he listened to the vibrating echo of his own scream as it faded through the blackness. His eyes were fixed on the decayed mummified skeleton of a man slumped against the side of the tunnel. For a moment Mark was frozen in terror, unable to move. The skeleton, dressed in the tattered remains of what looked to be an army uniform, seemed to be staring back at him. Mark screwed up his face and turned his head away from the sight.

It was only Will's muffled anxious voice which finally brought him back to his senses. "I'm….I'm all right," Mark yelled back.

With shaky fingers he retrieved the pick shovel off the dead man's leg and stood back up. Hugging the cold rocky wall, he forced himself to continue further down the tunnel. A little deeper, he at last found one of the support joists. Waving the torch along the wooden beam he couldn't find any markings. He checked the one on the other side. Nothing. Continuing on, he slowly made his way until he came to the next set of joists, he repeated the process and with a sigh of relief spotted the markings etched into the vertical support.

"I…I found it," Mark shouted nervously back down the tunnel. His voice echoed eerily off the walls again and the mountain groaned loudly in response making him cringed. He gulped hard and he tried to focus on his task. As instructed he found the pile of rocks stacked against the side of the tunnel. As he propped the torch next to him, the flame seemed to be a little dimmer. Hastily, he started clearing the stones away. On the bottom of the pile he found a large rock wedged into a pit. It was too heavy for him to lift. He tried to roll it away but it wouldn't budge.

Grabbing the shovel, Mark wedged it underneath the rock trying to pry it loose. At first it didn't move, but after a couple more tries, at last he felt it shift. He got down on his knees and gripped the shovel with both hands. Using his body weight as leverage he pushed again. The rock slowly started to roll away.

He'd almost moved it completely aside when the shovel slipped out of place causing him to bang his hand painfully against the side of the tunnel. Mark held his hand tightly until the stinging pain stopped.

Roark muffed voice echo down the tunnel. Though he could not make out what was said, the tone was definitely getting impatient.

Mark wedged the shovel back in place and after a few more attempts at last he managed to move the rock aside. The torch began to flicker more erratically casting eerie distorted shadows on the wall as he quickly started shoveling the dirt out. Almost a foot down, the shovel hit something hard but pliable. Mark dropped the tool and felt with the object with his fingers. It was something made of leather. He could feel a metal buckle and the rounded edge of a flap.

"I think I found it," Mark called back.

The mountain moaned again and this time he felt a fine cloud of dust falling over him making him duck his head lower to the ground. Hastily he cleared the rest of the dirt away until he was able to grip a leather handle. At first the bag wouldn't budge, but after some effort, he was finally able to wiggle it free.

Leaving the shovel behind, Mark grabbed the torch and bag and headed back. As he neared the body again, he hugged the far wall trying not to look at it. He was almost back were he had started when the torch gave one last flicker then died out completely plunging him into complete darkness. Mark froze for a moment in fear and could feel the cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck. Dropping the useless torch, he reached out and found the side of the tunnel and slowly felt his way back the remaining distance.

When he could go no further he called up in the darkness. "I've got it"

Lloyd's voice came strong from the other side. "Pass it through."

"I can't see the opening. The torch went out."

"Hang on."

A few seconds later Mark saw a dim reflection of light coming from above. He started climbing towards it. But the satchel was heavy and proved awkward to lift up the steep pile of debris. His boots kept slipping and twice he drop the bag trying to lift it.

"I can't get it up. The side is too steep for me to lift it."

"Hang on a minute then," Lloyd said. Mark waited anxiously for what seemed liked hours but was probably only a few minutes before he heard Lloyd's voice again. "I'm going pass a rope through to you. Take it and tie it around the bag and we'll haul it up."

"Okay."

A few seconds later he felt the rope brush him in the darkness. It took sevearl minutes for Mark to tie the end around satchel becasue he couldn't exactly see what he was doing. He then gave a tug on the rope. The slack was taken up and Mark did his best to help push the satchel towards the narrow opening. After a few more hard tugs, it soon disappeared from sight.

But when Mark tried to follow suite, his foot slipped on a loose rocks and he fell back onto the tunnel floor.

From the other side he could hear the elated voices, but then they started fading away. Mark started to panic. Were they planning on leaving him behind after all? He tried to quickly climb up into the opening again but his boots kept slipping on the steep slope, unable to find a descent toehold in the dark. He groped frantically in the darkness.

"Please don't leave me," he said anxiously as the silence continued.

Finally Will's voiced called back down to him reassuringly.

"I can't get back out. It's too steep! Please don't leave me in here Will," Mark repeated again.

"I'm not going anywhere Mark. Just stay calm. I'm going to pass the rope back down to you."

"Okay."

As soon as he felt the end of the rope hit his face he grabbed onto it and after several more attempts Mark was at last able to leverage himself up and into the opening. He'd almost made it completely through the passage when he felt the back of his shirt snagged on something. He tried to wiggle free without luck.

"Hurry up Mark!"

"I can't. I'm caught up on something," Mark replied anxiously.

Will could hear the panic rising in Mark's voice again. "Hang on," Will replied, as Mark continued to try to free himself only cause some loose dirt and small stones to rain down on his head. "Hold still before the whole thing collapses on top of you!" Will ordered. With some effort he managed to stretch his arm between Mark and hard rock to see if he could feel what was he was caught on. His hand groped the back of Mark's shirt and found that it was twisted up on something long and sharp. As he tried to free the material, Will felt a sharp sting as something jabbed his palm and let out a curse, but he was able at last to free him. Grabbing Mark by his belt, he dragged him through the rest of the opening and the down the pile of rocks.

"You all right?" Will asked.

Mark nodded but he was shaking uncontrollably. He told Will about the body he'd discovered and heard Will muttered something savagely under his breath. "Come on let's get out you of here."

He led Mark back outside, through the scrub trees and into the open light. As they emerged, Mark was temporarily blinded by the bright sunlight and put his hand up to block the glare. When his eyes finally adjusted he could see Lloyd, Briggs and Roark standing a short distance away laughing and joking.

When Lloyd saw the two of them, he walked over and roughly rubbed the top of Mark's head beaming. Mark immediately withdrew from the outlaw's touch, brushing his bangs nervously back in place.

"You did good kid!"

Trying hard to suppress his anger, Will repeated what Mark had told him about finding the body.

They all looked over at Roark who started chuckling. "Oh that would be Lieutenant Parker. Almost forgot about him." At the group's curious look, Roark went on to explain. "After that band of renegade Apaches attacked the supply wagon the money was hidden in and set the dang thing on fire I grabbed the satchel and decided to get the hell out of there. But I guess the Lieutenant must have seen me take off and followed. He caught up with me when my horse stumbled and fell. He was intent on bringing me back in when we were spotted by a couple of scouts. A tomahawk got the Lieutenant upside the head and I got an arrow in my calf before we managed to finish them both off. But the commotion had spooked the horses and we had to high tail it out of there on foot when we saw several more Apaches coming over the rise. We were just damn lucky to have found this cave by chance and hid out till we were sure they were gone. But the Lieutenant was bleeding pretty bad from his head wound and I knew it was just a matter of time. All I had to do was wait for the right opportunity."

"Never did like that Lieutenant much" Roark said wickedly and his smile told the rest of the Lieutenant's fate. "I knew I couldn't get the money safely out of here on foot, so I hid it here. An army patrol found me two days later after they discovered the ambushed wagon. I was planning on coming back to get the money when things cooled, except I got arrested in the infirmary a few days later for illegal Indian trading. Then all hell broke loose between the Apaches and the army."

"And my men and I where caught in the middle of the whole mess," Lloyd snapped. "By the time we got out of there, it cost me two of my best men!"

But Will had heard enough. He took Mark by the shoulders and stirred him down the hill. "Come on, I think I saw a little stream nearby where you can wash up."

The cool water felt good on Mark's face as he washed the dust from his eyes. After taking a long drink, he started to feel calmer. It was then he noticed Will's hand. "You're hurt!"

"It's nothing. I just caught it when I was trying to un-snag you." Will rinsed his hand off, then wrapped his bandana around the wound.

They sat in the sun and after a few minutes Mark asked, "What's going to happen now, Will?"

"Lloyd's got some men meeting us up North once we get over the mountains. I sent them a wire last week. "

"And me?" Mark asked. "Now that Lloyd's got what he came for, what are they going to do about me?"

Will looked somber. "Don't worry, I'll figure something out."


	11. Chapter 10: Crazy Charlie

**Chapter 10: Crazy Charlie**

Crazy Charlie led his pack mule Lucy down along the grassy hillsides, carrying his squirrel gun lazily in the crook of his arm. A mountain rat by nature, he was dressed in worn buckskins and a coon tailed hat that had also seen better days. His face was covered in whiskers, his hands wrinkled, his shoulders curled from years of prospecting. His frame was so bony, in fact, that it looked like a strong gust of wind might just blow him away. They called him Crazy Charlie because he continued to prospect in hills that had long been abandoned in search of that elusive strike. He preferred the likes of his mule over the company of most men and managed to collect enough gold dust here and there to etch out a meager existence.

Not having much success lately, Charlie decided to try his luck down in the south canyons for a while. He'd heard of several abandoned mines around the area he thought might be worth checking out.

As he walked along he talked out loud to his only companion, the mule about as ancient as he was. "Well now, Lucy, just you wait, somethin's bound to turn up soon enough. My big toes been an itchin' for a couple of days now and you know what that means, riches will soon be comin' our way."

The mule just followed along, laden down with all of the old prospector's worldly possession, which wasn't much.

Crazy Charlie continued to ramble on about the big strike he'd eventually find just around the bend until he spotted four horses tethered to a group of trees. He stopped and looked around but there didn't seem to be anyone about. He was just about to go have a closer look when he saw a young man hurrying down the hill towards them. After grabbing a length of rope, Charlie watched him run back up then seemed to disappear behind some scrub trees. When he didn't re-emerge after several minutes, curiosity got the better of him. "What do ya suppose that young fella is up to, girl?"

With his trusty squirrel gun in hand, Charlie made his way a little further up the side of the hill and concealed himself behind some brush. Still some distance away, from his vantage point Charlie thought he could just make out the dark entrance to some sort of cave hidden in the thickets. "I knew it! A mine tunnel! Maybe he found a vein, Lucy. My big toe never lies."

Charilie waited a long time wondering if the boy was ever gonna come back out. He'd just about given up when he saw three different fellas emerge. They were carrying something with them and laughing, though Charlie couldn't see what from him vantage point.

Lucy squawked and began nuzzlin' Charlie's pocket. "You just hush up ya hear." But the mule pushed insistently up against him. Charlie irritably pulled out a bag of penny candy and fed one to the mule, then decided to help himself to one as well. When Lucy had finished hers, she nuzzled Charlie again. "No more for you girl. You got a bad enough sweet tooth as it is. These candies don't grow on trees ya know." He put the sack of candy carefully back in his pocket.

Charlie then retreated back down the hill and tied the burro to a branch well out of sight. "Looky here Lucy, you stay put. I'm just gonna go back over and take me a closer look see." Lucy stared back on him with blank eyes.

Charlie edged his way back up the hill where the three men where still talking. They had their backs to him facing the tunnel entrance and since he was still some distance away, and Charlie's hearing wasn't a good as it used to be, he couldn't quite make out what there were saying. A short while later the younger fella he'd seen before came out but this time he had a young boy with him. One of the other men came over and rubbed the boy on the head, but the boy cringed back as if he didn't seem none too happy about being touched. Charlie scratched his whiskers thinking the whole situation looked a little odd. Besides, the men didn't look like much like prospectors neither. Charlie craned his neck to see what they were fussing over, but his view was still blocked by the scrub trees.

A few minutes later the boy was led away by the younger man. Charlie stayed to watch the others, curiosity getting the better of him.

So intent was he on watching the men and wondering what all the fuss was about that Charlie was nearly startled out of his skin when a familiar braying sound came from behind. Turning quickly about he saw Lucy standing behind him. "What in tar 'nation are ya doing you stupid mule! I told ya to stay put!" Charlie whispered irritably.

Lucy simply advanced and started nuzzling Charlie's pockets. "I ain't got time to satisfy your sweet tooth you stubborn jackass." But Lucy was insistent and knocked Charlie over in the process, braying stubbornly.

Then with a sinking feeling, Charlie heard a voice from behind. "Hold it right there old timer."

Charlie stared up at the gun drawn level to his face and the hard features of the man holding it. Dropping the squirrel gun, he raised his hands in the air and looked over at his mule. "Stubborn jackass, ya sure got me into a heap of trouble this time!"

When Will and Mark returned from washing up, they were surprised to see an old man standing in front of Lloyd. The prospector looked as thin as an iron rail beneath the battered and worn buckskin coverings. His aged eyes darted nervously about.

"What's going on?" Will asked curiously.

"Found this old coot spying on us," Lloyd said.

"I didn't mean anything by it, honest mister. Me and Lucy were just travelin' through."

"Lucy?"

The old man looked nervously at Lloyd. "My mule," he reluctantly confessed nodding over to the pack animal lazily chewing on a clump of grass.

Roark started laughing.

Lloyd had taken the old squirrel gun away from the prospector was now examining it. He chuckled. "Doubt you could even hit the side of a barn with this thing old man." Nevertheless, he shattered it up against a tree.

"Aw, why did ya have to go and do that for?" Charlie said woefully.

Lloyd tipped his gun at the underside of the old prospector's throat. He swallowed hard, Charlie's eyes darting from one man to the next.

"I ain't a lookin' for any trouble mister." His voice trembled. "I'm just a crazy old fool people don't take much notice of anyway. Whatever stake ya all have up in that tunnel is your own. I ain't no thief." But he couldn't help looking over at Mark curiously.

"You got that right!" Roark barked.

"Fetch that mule over here boy," Lloyd ordered.

Lucy didn't seem particularly happy to be dragged away from the sweet grass. With some effort Mark retrieved the stubborn animal.

"Watch him." Lloyd said then proceeded to riffle through the prospector's gear. He pulled out some worn tools, a couple of ragged shirts and a few battered up tin cooking supplies. Then he came across a couple of sticks of aged dynamite. "Well what do we have here?" Lloyd examined them closely, looked at Mark for several long seconds as if in thought, then stuffed them into his shirt. Last the outlaw leader found a small cloth sack. Opening the drawstring bag he discovered it was barely half full of gold dust. He let out an amused chuckle as Charlie made a sound of protest.

"But that there is all I've got in the world mister. Took me and Lucy nearly six months to collect that."

Lloyd grinned. "Well, we appreciate the effort old timer." He then tossed the bag to Mark. "Here kid, consider it a little reward for a job well done."

Mark dropped it like it had burnt his hand.

"What are we going to do with him?" Roark asked.

Lloyd looked the old man up and down thoughtfully for several long seconds. Finally he said, "He ain't no threat, crazy old coot." Turning to Will, "Go get some rope and tie him up to that tree. We'll let the coyotes take care of him."

Will reluctantly complied though tried to make the knots not nearly as tight as he should have.

"Ya can't leave me like this!" Charlie muttered a few minutes later as he squirmed against the bindings.

"Can't I?" Lloyd said. "Be thankful I'm in a good mood old man or you'd have a bullet between the eyes instead."

He walked over and grabbed the mule's reins. Charlie looked fretfully down at the animal. "Please, mister, don't hurt my Lucy, she's all I got in this world," he pleaded.

Lloyd chuckled again. "Crazy old coot!" With that he gave the mule a hard swat on the rear followed by several rounds of gunfire in the air, sending the mule running away in a blind panic, braying loudly.

"Why'd you go and do that for?" Roark snapped. "You want the whole valley to hear the gunfire?"

Lloyd ignored the comment as Charlie lost his temper shouting and calling them every vile name he could think off.

"Gag him and let's get moving," Lloyd told Will and headed back towards the horses.

Reluctantly Will covered Charlie's mouth. The old prospector stared up at him with aging eyes, looking defeated. Then Will picked up the bag of gold dust. Glancing quickly over to see the rest of the group was busy mounting up Will shoved the sack of gold dust into the old prospector's shirt. Charlie looked at him confused. As Will turned he saw Mark watching him before he was quickly steered in the direction of the horses. Mark took one last look at the old prospector over his shoulder as they left.

The rain had cleared up leaving the sky with a patchy thin layer of clouds as the trio started out at first light trying to pick up the outlaw's trail again. As Lucas had feared the rain had washed away the few remains of any tracks they had been following. With little choice they decided to make a systematic check of the nearby gullies. A few hours later after having no luck they heard the faint crack of gunfire coming somewhere southwest of them.

The bounty hunter instinctively turned in that direction. About an hour or so later they heard an odd braying noise.

What they found a short while later was a mule entangled in a thicket of heavy brush, the burro's pack still on her back in disarray. "What do you make of it?" Lucas asked Micah.

"Gotta belong to somebody, that's for sure," Micah said, as he went about trying to untangle the beast. But once free, the skittish mule trotted off into canyon seeming to have a mind of her own.

"I say we should follow her," Broudy suggested. "As you said Marshal, she's gotta belong to someone." With no other leads to go on at the moment, Lucas and Micah let Broudy lead the way.

The burro eventually led them down to a grove of trees. There to there utter surprise they saw an old man tied up to one of the trunks. The mule was up along side him tugging at his pocket with her teeth.

Lucas brought Razor to a halt and quickly approached the man with his rifle drawn. He looked half conscious, sweat pouring from his face. Lucas lifted his head and loosened the gag, then untied the man from the tree.

The old timer fell to his knees. Micah brought the canteen over to him and Lucas offered him a drink of water. His hands were shaking so badly, Lucas had to steady the canteen for him while he drank.

After he'd taken several swallows, he finally said in a croaked voice. "Thanks mister. Sure grateful to ya for comin' around when ya did. Thought I be tied to that tree till I turned to bones."

"You can thank the mule over there, she led us to you," Lucas said.

Charlie looked at the beast. "Lucy! Why you clever old gal."

The mule simply nudged Charlie's pocket again. The old prospector laughed and pulled out the sack of candy dumping the entire contents on the ground. "Help yourself old gal, ya deserve it." Charlie got shakily to his feet and looked down at the remains of his trusty squirrel rifle. "Those vile varmints!"

"Mind tellin' us how you came to be in this predicament old timer?" Micah asked.

Seeing the silver star on Micah's chest, Charlie went on to explain what happened.

"I thought those fellas seemed a bit odd. Didn't look like any proscpectors I've seen before. But they sure seemed happy about something they brought out of that cave up yonder."

"Did you see what it was?"

The old man shook his head. "I could only see them partially through the scrub and I couldn't get close enough for a better look before I got caught."

"What do you make of it Micah?"

"Not sure, but it seems maybe that's why Corbain's back in his old stomping grounds."

Broudy was listening intently, his face impassive.

"Care to throw in your opinion Broudy since you seem to know Corbain better than the rest of us?"

The bounty hunter shrugged. "Can't say I can help you Marshal. I'm just after the bounty remember. But the old man's story seems to make things just a might more interesting, eh?"

Micah glared suspiciously at the bounty hunter, with a feeling he was holding something back.

"Was there a boy with them, about twelve?" Lucas anxiously asked.

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, thought it looked kinda odd him being with that bunch. There were four of them, three older one, kinda mean lookin' and a younger fella."

"Was the boy okay?"

Charlie nodded again. "Fur as I could tell, though he didn't seem to have much of a likin' for them fellas." Then he remembered the younger man giving him back his gold. "But I don't think the younger fella was as bad as the other three. He treated me decent."

Lucas gave a sigh of relief.

"How long ago were they here?" the bounty demanded.

The old prospector stared at the deep scar on Broudy's face. Charlie looked at the direction of the sun. "Few hours maybe."

"Do you know which way they're headed?" Micah asked.

"West, I think, but they could be anywhere. This canyon trails out in a least three to four different directions."

"Thanks mister," Lucas said appreciatively.

Charlie gathered the remains of his gear. "Hope ya get those varmints, Marshal."

"We're going to give it our best shot," Micah replied. "You going be all right, old timer?"

Charlie nodded. "Don't have to worry 'bout me none." He grabbed the reins of his mule. "Come on Lucy, time to getta movin'" Lucy resisted until she'd consumed the last nibble of candy. Crazy Charlie then led the mule away.


	12. Chapter 11: Avalache of Despair

**Chapter 11: Avalanche of Despair**

Lloyd led the outlaws through the twisted canyon with its several off shooting branches traveling in the shallow streambeds and sticking mostly to hard rocky patches whenever they could. But Lloyd knew that the ground, made soft by the rain last night, would make it a lot harder to hide their trail now. Eventually he guided them along one of the east facing tributaries, into what looked like a small, granite lined boxed-in canyon, but at its end was a switch back trail that snaked up to the top.

Though Briggs wondered why Lloyd had chosen this route when one of the passes to the west would have led them closer to the ridgeline route necessary to get over the mountains heading towards Taos, he'd ridden long enough not to question Lloyd's decisions.

Once they reached the switchback trail, Mark, still riding double behind Lloyd, could only grip the outlaw's waist and squeeze his legs tight as the horses ascended. At times the trail was wide enough to allow for two horses to ride almost side by side, at others it jutted inward between columns of rock, only to emerge onto an open ledge with a steep forty-five degree loose rock and gravel incline next to it. As the canyon bottom sank lower, Mark was acutely aware at times just how close the horses' hooves came to the edge of the narrowest parts of the trail. By the time they reached the top Mark's arms and legs ached while the horses' heads were dipped low, winded from the steep climb.

Lloyd brought the group to a halted and dismounted.

"Why are we stopping?" Roark asked. Now that they had the money he was eager to put as much distance between himself and any more lawmen as he could possible get.

"We need to rest the horses here for a bit before we can continue." As Will and Mark led the horses a short distance away to rest, Lloyd walked back over to the edge and looked around. From his vantage point he had a clear view of the canyon below. Briggs and Roark soon joined him. "Besides, I just want to make sure we weren't followed."

"You think McCain, the marshal and that bounty hunter are still trailing us?" Briggs asked.

"A pack of bloodhounds don't give up a scent easy," Lloyd replied. "And I still can't figure out how the hell Broudy suddenly entered the picture. I knew I should have finished him off when I had the chance last time instead of leaving him in the desert. Man's got more lives than a damn cat!"

"Think he's working for the marshal then?" Briggs asked.

Lloyd scoffed. "Broudy works for nobody but himself unless the Marshal and McCain are as dirty as he is. But the fact that he's riding with them now doesn't make our situation an easier either."

Lloyd scratched his chin then looked at the string of rocks lining the top of the canyon. Taking his foot he shoved a medium sized boulder over the edged and watched as it bounced down on the trail below bringing with it a small avalanche of loose gravel.

Will and Mark had joined the group.

"So then what are we going to do now?" Roark demanded.

"For the moment, nothing." And that's just what they did as Lloyd made himself comfortable and kept his eyes focused on the canyon bottom below.

But after more than an hour and all remained quiet and undisturbed, Roark's impatience again began to show. "Are we going to hang around here all day? Let's get moving! The horses have had plenty of time to rest!"

"Not just yet." As Roark started to argue back, Lloyd suddenly pointed grimly down to the floor of the canyon. "Over there."

In the distance three riders became visible as they rounded the bend following the creek bed. Mark's heart leapt at the sight of them. "Pa," he muttered excitedly. Lloyd shot him a sideways glance.

"How'd you know?" Roark asked.

Lloyd smiled coyly. "Because I know Broudy and I'm beginning to understand McCain. After the rain I knew it wouldn't be hard to follow our tracks especially if they found that old man tied to the tree."

"You set them up?" Roark replied, looking suspiciously at Lloyd. "But why? I thought we were trying to loose them, not invite them to find us!"

"Careful Roark, your paranoia is starting to show through again," Lloyd replied sarcastically. Roark just look at him oddly. He didn't know what the word paranoia meant but the way Lloyd said it sounded like an insult. Lloyd chuckled. "Let's just say I had a hunched. Besides, the game has changed now. All McCain may have wanted back was his son, but if Broudy's in the picture it's for a different reason entirely. The snakes got it in for me for sure and he'll follow me from here to kingdom come unless I stop him."

"So what do you have in mind then?"

"A little surprise." He stood up. "But this time we're going to do things my way," Lloyd said sternly looking directly at Roark. From his shirt, he extracted the sticks of dynamite he had confiscated from the crazy old man. Holding them up he replied, "I say is about time we left our guests a little welcome present."

While Brigg's mouth turned down into a frown, Roark's split into an amused grin. "Now you're finally talking my language!"

As Mark suddenly realized Lloyd's intent, his eyes widened. "No…no….you can't!" Without thought for himself, Mark made a lunge for the dynamite. When that didn't work, he started punching and kicking Lloyd in the chest and shins. "No! I won't let you! You can't!" Lloyd grappled momentarily with the boy but Mark's attempts were a feeble match at best as the outlaw leader's strength soon prevailed. Mark's arm was twisted painfully behind him until he was forced to stand still. Breathing down on the side of Mark's face, Lloyd said coldly, "I can and I will boy!"

Next he knew, Mark was shoved towards Briggs who quickly restrained him. Swinging his head about, he saw the fury in Lloyd's face and gulped fearing he had finally crossed the line with the outlaw leader. Lloyd glared ominously at him. "You're a gutsy kid, I'll give you that, but pull that stunt on me again and you'll be joining your daddy soon enough!" To Will and Briggs he ordered. "Take the horses further down the trail and keep the kid out of sight!

As Briggs started dragging Mark away, he started to struggle. "No, no! Let me go!"

Briggs jerked him roughly back. "Settle down kid before I have to hog tie you! You'll only make things worse for yourself in the end."

Mark desperately looked over at Will, pleading. "Please, don't let him do it, Will! Pa! He's going to kill my Pa!"

Briggs watched Will hesitate, but threw him a fierce glance. "Do like he says if you want the boy to live!"

Concealed behind the rocks at the top of the canyon cliff, Lloyd retrieved a cigar from his pocket and took his time lighting it as he watched the trio's progress. Staying low, he position the sticks of dynamite beneath a couple of larger boulders near the edge.

Below, the three riders followed the streambed until Broudy pointed to hoof prints where the outlines had clearly exited. It wasn't long before they reached the switchback trail at the end of the canyon.

They approached it cautiously looking up the sides and along the rim but all remained quiet. They paused for several minutes scanning the terrain but seeing they had little choice proceeding forth. Lucas nudged Razor into lead with Broudy following and Micah taking up the rear, towing Mark's sorrel pony Blue Boy.

Lloyd carefully watched their progress as they ascended.

"Light the fuses already," Roark hissed as the riders drew closer.

"Not just yet," Lloyd patiently replied.

Meanwhile, Briggs was having difficultly holding the boy down and suddenly let out a resounding yelp when Mark sank his teeth in the outlaw's hand. His grip loosened for a second and it was just enough for Mark to break free. Brigg's mouth turned into an angry thin line. "I can't believe it! The kid just bit me!"

As Mark started to run back towards the cliffs, Will took off after him. "Mark, come back!"

When the trio were about two thirds of the way to the top, Lloyd reach down and lit the first fuse while Roark took cover.

Mark had reached the top of the cliff as Lloyd lit the second fuse, then jumped out of sight. Eyes fixated on the smoking fuse, Mark started desperately shouted, "Pa, look out! It's a trap!" A second later he was tackled from behind. "No! Let me go! I've got to warn him!"

"It's too late!" Will shouted and giving Mark no choice, lifted him bodily off the ground and headed for cover. The explosion that went off a few seconds later was deafening. Will and Mark were thrust forward by the blast.

Down in the pass Lucas had heard Mark's shrill cry. Instinctively he shouted to Micah and Broudy as he turned Razor about, driving the Black off the trail and down the forty-five degree incline as the blast erupted a second later. The avalanche of rocks headed straight for him. Razor's hind legs dug into the loose earth to keep from flipping over and Lucas thought the horse would surely stumble and break a leg before they made it to the bottom. Urging the Black forward at a dangerous pace, he grunted sharply as a rock hit him sharply in the side.

Micah and Broudy had also turned about, trying to race back down the trail towards the switch back as the rocks rained down from above. The sorrel pony broke free and veered off sharply. Both men urged their horses off the main trail towards a column of boulders. But they weren't quick enough as the avalanche caught up with them. One of the rocks caught Micah's horse in the leg knocking it out from under him. Suddenly Micah felt himself sailing through the air as more rocks tumbled his way.

The loud rumbling seemed to go on forever. Will pinned Mark's quivering body down on the ground and covered his head as small rocks and dirt rained down on top of them. When it finally ended and the silence returned, Mark struggled, anxious to be released. He at last he broke free and ran over to the edge of the canyon wall. At first he couldn't see anything, the cloud of dust thick, but as it started to settle, to his horror he saw the trail directly below was completely covered. And his father and Micah were no where to be seen.

He dropped his knees, hands at his side. "Pa!" he said in a soft shocked voice barely above a whisper.

So great the shock, he was not aware of Lloyd and Roark approaching the edge, leaning forward and examining the results until he heard Roark's satisfied laugh. "Let McCain and the rest try and dig their way out of that."

Mark's eyes brimming with burning tears could only stare at the rubble below. "Pa…Micah…You killed them!"

Lloyd took a few steps over until he was towering over Mark, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. "I did what I needed to boy! When people mess with me too far, they get hurt. I'd advise you to remember that from here on out!" Turning with an air a authority he sternly commanded to his men. "Mount up and let's get moving!"

In shock, Mark felt Will helping him to his feet, but he jerked his arm quickly away. Will dropped his arms. "I'm sorry Mark," he said softly. "There was nothing I could do."

"Liar!" Mark reeled, throwing him a look of pure hatred. "You could have stopped him!" His voice was thick and choked with the effort to speak.

"Mark, you don't understand."

"I understand plenty! You're nothing but a coward and I hate ya."

Will knew Mark was lashing out at him from grief, but the words still stung hitting so close to the truth.

Lloyd looked back. "I said let's get going," he repeated coldly to his nephew.

Will saw Roark's mouth curve into an amused smile. Clenching his teeth, he put his arms firmly on Mark's shoulders. "Come on Mark, we need to go," he said quietly as Briggs handed him the reins of his own mount. Once in the saddle he reached down to help Mark up. Refusing to even look at him, Mark climbed silently up, his grimy face streaked with tears. A pang of guilt gnawed in his gut as Will followed the rest of the men. For the second time in his life he'd watched his uncle murder in cold blood with nothing more than a blink of an eye.


	13. Chapter 12: Pangs of Guilt

**Chapter 12: Pangs of Guilt**

Now that they had the money, and the bounty hunter, the marshal and McCain were out of the picture permanently, Corbain led the group of horses at a slower pace finally stopping to camp in a secluded clearing as dusk settled in.

Mark moved mechanically, doing what he was told as he gathered wood for the fire and helped Will with the horses. He refused the food Will offered a little later and instead sat by the fire staring blankly at the flames still numb with disbelief. He couldn't believe it. His Pa was gone.

Will ate little of his own meal as he watched Mark, looking small and lost. He was a good kid who had been just unlucky enough to get tangled up in this whole mess. Pangs of guilt jabbed at his conscious.

Roark's sudden laugh broke his train of thought. He turned and looked at the three outlaws sitting around the campfire in jovial moods. The convict leaned against his bedroll and took another swig of whiskey while he fondled a stack of money greedily, the jowls of his pudgy mouth jiggling. "Fifty Thousand dollars. Didn't think I'd ever see this day! Not a bad day's work, aye Lloyd?"

Even Lloyd's sour mood towards Roark seemed to have lifted. He too had waited five long years for this payoff.

"I don't know about the two of you, but I'm taking my share and heading for Mexico and hooking myself up with one of them pretty little Mexican Senoritas," Roark drunkenly boasted.

"And what about you Briggs?" Lloyd asked. "Still planning on getting a little spread up in Wyoming?"

Briggs nodded. "No offense Lloyd, but I'm getting too old and tired to be doing this stuff much longer. I just want enough for a decent stake where I can settle down somewhere quiet."

Lloyd shook his head, "Seems like a waste of a good dollar my friend, but can't deny you your dream, you've been a good partner over the years."

Roark took another swig of whiskey and chuckled loudly. "Sure wish I could've seen the looks on those three faces, Lloyd, when all those rocks came crashing down on top of them." He pointed a grundgy finger at Mark and said meanly. "That rifle didn't do your daddy much good this time did it boy?"

Mark jerked as if he'd been slapped. Tears welled in his eyes, and he jumped up quickly just wanting to get away from all of them for a while. As he left the camp he could hear Roark's sadistic laughter following him.

Will rose to his feet, his temper flaring. "You're a real piece of work aren't you Roark! Can't you just leave it alone for once?"

"What's it to you sonny boy? The brat's old man got what he desired."

"You don't have to jab it into the kid's face like a hot poker though."

"Sounds like you've taken a little too much liking to the brat," Roark retorted.

"Is that right Will?" Lloyd asked quietly.

Will dropped his gaze unable to confront his uncle. "I just think the kid's been through enough that's all."

"Well I wouldn't worry about the brat too much longer. It's not like we're going to need him tagging along now," Roark interjected.

Will shot his uncle a questioning glance but Lloyd's silence seemed to give him the answer. "Find the kid and bring him back," was Lloyd's final reply.

Will could only stare at the three outlaws before turning his back and walking out of camp.

Roark jabbed a drunken finger at Lloyd and said with a heavy slur, "I'm telling you Lloyd, that kid's gonna turn on you one day, blood or no blood."

Lloyd grabbed the whiskey bottle out of Roark's hand and smashed the remaining contents in the fire. The fire flared angrily up as the alcohol ignited.

"Hey what you do that for?" Roark complained sourly.

Lloyd's temper flared. "You've had more than enough!"

"I'm only celebrating a little," Roark mumbled bitterly.

The outlaw leader turned his head away from the drunk convict and starred into the brush where Will had disappeared. He sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't deny the possibility. It was a disappointment.

When Mark realized he had no where to run he stopped and leaned his head up against a tree and looked out into the darkness, a darkness that matched the emptiness inside him. He had refused to give into his emotions during the long ride but now they seemed to overwhelm him. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled the rattlesnake charm Billy Whitefeather had given him and examined it. He'd been so excited to show his Pa. The choking sensation returned in his throat and Mark felt his eyes brimming. A tear overflowed and trickled down his cheek followed by another. This time he made no effort to stop them. His father was dead.

So alone in his misery, he jumped when he heard a voice say from behind, "There you are. I've been looking for you." It was Will.

Mark wiped the wetness quickly from his face, refusing to look at him. "Go away." He tried to sound angry, but it came out as a strangled choke instead.

He heard Will sigh heavily behind him, then felt hands on his shoulders turning him gently around. "I'm sorry Mark."

But Mark just shook his head. "I thought you were different. Not like them. But you're just the same." His eyes held an accusation Will could not deny.

"I never meant for any of this to happen, please believe me," Will said softly. But Mark jerked away and turned his back on him again, remaining silent. Will dropped his arms dejectedly to his sides. "I should have just brought you back to the river when you asked me the first time."

A silence followed, neither one knowing quite what to say. "What's going to happen me now?" Mark said at last.

As usual, Will was a little surprised at Mark's directness. "Don't worry. Once were on the other side of the mountain I'll…I'll make sure you get somewhere safe."

Mark just shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

Will's brow knitted into a frown. "What are you saying Mark?"

But Mark shook his head. "Don't you get it! Nothing matter's anymore, not without my pa." He clenched his fist tightly together to keep the tears from surging in his eyes again.

"I know it's hard…."

Suddenly Mark reeled about. "You know nothing!" he shouted, his grief overwhelming. He took several deep breaths trying to calm his emotions. When he spoke again, his voice was soft but thick with sadness. "It's just been Pa and me for as long as I can remember. We've always been together." He paused but Will made no effort to interrupt. "After my mother died, we left Oklahoma for good. Pa said it was just too painful to stay. We traveled around quite a lot, not staying anywhere for very long. Pa and I had some rough years, but not once did he ever think of leaving me with anyone. When we finally bought our ranch in North Fork I thought we were finally gonna settle down for good. Pa was even planning on buying another hundred acres next season and expanding the herd."

Mark paused again as if the next part was harder to say. Finally he quietly voiced a long engrained fear that came with being the son of Lucas McCain. "But I was always afraid something like this might happen to him one day."

The silence seemed as lonely as the darkness they stood in. "You were right earlier, you know," Will said at last.

"About what?" Mark asked flatly. He didn't feel like talking anymore. He didn't feel like doing anything anymore.

"About me and Lloyd." Will replied. "I guess I've been kidding myself about Lloyd long enough. I guess I've idol worshipped my uncle for so long I never really stopped to consider just what kind of man he'd become."

"So why don't ya just quit?" Mark snapped back, irritated. He hadn't asked for any of this.

Will sighed. "It's not that easy, least for me. I didn't tell you this before but my uncle killed a man in cold blood just to teach me a lesson."

The news startled him a little. "What do ya mean?" Once again Mark thought he saw a look of guilt flash over Will face. There was a long pause as if he was really struggling with what he wanted to say next.

Will rubbed the palm of his hand as if trying to remove some dirt. "The night we busted Roark out of the prison wagon, Lloyd wanted me to kill the guard. Said he didn't want any witnesses. But it was a test to see how loyal I'd be. He never forgave me for botching the job in El Paso and I guess he wanted to see if I could really do it." He paused. "All the years I had practiced with that pistol behind my pa's back just so I could impress Lloyd and then the excitement I felt helping Lloyd pull a job, well that night…I just couldn't go through with it, not like that, in cold blood, with the man pleading for his life. But Lloyd, he…he just pulled the trigger." Will's voice faded. "I should have stopped him then," he finally said at last.

Silence followed. Biting his lip, Mark said with sincerity, "I'm sorry Will, I…I didn't know." Neither spoke for several more minutes.

"Listen, Mark, I know I can't change the past," he finally said with determination. "But I'm gonna make you a promise that I'll try and get you out of this mess if I can. Do you have any family?"

Mark nodded solemnly. "An aunt and uncle in Kearny," he told Will. His pa had always told him if anything ever happened to him, Mark could contact them.

"All right," Will said softly. "Come on, we better get back before we're missed."

"What are you gonna do?"

"I don't know just yet."

"Will?" Mark said, stopping.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said to ya before. I don't hate you."

Will gave a small grateful smile.

Once back at camp though Lloyd took Will aside. Briggs and Roark had already settled down in their bed rolls. He held his nephew firmly by the forearm. "What took you so long?" Lloyd demanded.

"Nothing. The kid was just upset. Can you blame him?"

"Is that all?"

"What more do you want, Lloyd?" Will asked flatly.

Lloyd's eyes narrowed at his nephew's tone. "I want you remember what I said before, Will. There's no gray areas here. You're either with me or against, understand?"

"Sure Lloyd. I understand."

Lloyd nodded, his eyes boring into his nephew's. "Good. Make sure you don't forget that." His uncle released him.

Later that night as Mark laid curled up on his side in a restless sleep, he was roused when Roark let out a loud snort. Lifting his head slightly, he saw Roark roll onto his back mumbling then settled back into a liquor induced slumber. Lloyd and Briggs were still asleep but to Mark's surprise he discovered Will's bedroll was empty. Wrapping the blanket a little tighter around him, Mark wondered where he'd gone.

A short time later however, Will quietly returned glancing cautiously at the group of sleeping men, then without a word laid down and put his hat over his face.


	14. Chapter 13: The Farmhouse

**Chapter 13: The Farmhouse**

By high noon the next day Lloyd was forced to stop and examine his horse. It was limping badly. Lifting the Bay's front foreleg he could see the underside was swollen and red. "He's gone lame. Must have cut the pad on some sharp rocks or something."

Riding double, Mark felt Will sit a little straighter in the saddle and avert his eyes from his uncle.

"So what are we gonna do now?" Roark asked. He was in a foul mood again, his head still throbbing from last night's whiskey binge and starting to get agitated about the money. Roark had wanted to split up the loot this morning, but Lloyd had insisted on keeping it together until they were safely out of the valley, or so he said. The convict wiped his parched mouth and took a swig of stale water from his canteen grimacing. He wished Lloyd hadn't smashed the last bottle of whiskey in the fire last night.

"He'll never make it over the mountains like this." Lloyd cursed. "We're gonna need to change horses." He thought a minute. "We past the outskirts of a farm about five miles back. Might be our best chance to find fresh mounts." Now that they had the money, Lloyd was eager to head over the mountains and was trying to avoid towns and settlements as much as possible. But there was little choice in the matter now as the outlaws were forced to double back.

A little while later from their position on a slight rise, Lloyd and his men staked out the small wooden ranch house in the clearing below. Across the compound was a barn with a corral adjacent, and beyond a larger fenced in pasture where a few horses could been seen grazing in the distance.

A man about Lloyd's age was outside chopping wood. A few minutes later, the front door opened and a woman in an apron came out carrying a glass and a small basket full of laundry. The man stopped what he was doing, and leaning the axe against a stump, accepted the glass, as the woman hung the clothes on the line to dry. She then went over to a small wooden structure on the other side of the clearing, emerging a few minutes later carry a piece of cured meat. She spoke briefly to the man again then disappeared into the house. Soon after, the man resumed his chopping. Besides the two of them, no one else seemed to be about the remote farm.

Satisfied they were alone; Lloyd motioned his men back down the hill. Leaning against the hillside, he took out his gun and checked it, then explained his plan. "Will, wait here until we get in position. When I give the signal you and the kid are going to take the Bay down nice and easy. They won't expect anything with the kid along. When you have their attention, we'll move in. With luck, we'll take them by surprise."

But Mark was edgy. Roark had been in an especially mean mood all morning and snapping at everyone, clearing getting on Lloyd's nerves as well. "No." Mark said suddenly. Will's eyes widened at Mark's defiance.

Lloyd's left eyebrow rose. "That's not a word I like to here boy! You'll do as you're told."

His voice quivered slightly but he held his ground. "I won't help you! Not….not unless you promise no one will get hurt." He was looking at Roark who just glared back with a sadistical smile. It had been enough they had killed his Pa and Micah. Mark couldn't bare to see anyone else was harmed.

Lloyd's icy glare made Mark cringe thinking he'd gone too far, but instead a second later he heard Lloyd chuckle. "You're sure one hell of a gutsy kid." He paused and smiled almost pleasantly. "All right, I promise kid, no one gets hurt." Lloyd threw Roark a stern warning, "No trouble from anyone, clear?" Roark gave Lloyd a sour grunt. Lloyd then leaned in close to Mark and suddenly grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. "But you try and tip them off boy," he said menacing holding the pistol up in front of the boy's face, "then the deals off, you understand?" Mark nodded solemnly as Lloyd released him. He didn't intend to cause any trouble.

"Give me your gun Will," Lloyd ordered. Will shot his uncle a puzzled look. "It will look too suspicious if you're packing," the outlaw explained. Reluctantly Will un-strapped his gun belt and handed it over to Lloyd.

Soon after, they set Lloyd's plan in motion. The outlaw leader headed around to the side of the house staying low and out of sight of the windows, taking position behind a buckboard wagon, while Roark and Briggs disappeared around the side of the barn. Once in place, Lloyd silently signaled Will.

"Come on, let's get this over with," Will said flatly as he proceeded towards the farm house with the Bay in tow. Mark anxiously followed a step behind.

Seeing the two strangers approach, the man suddenly stopped his work and stood up. Walking a short distance over to the porch he retrieved his rifle. In remote areas such as this it was not unusual for strangers to be met with caution. But as he saw Mark's slight frame standing beside Will, he brought the rifle down ever so slightly.

Will stopped several feet away, tipping his hat. "Afternoon sir," he said politely. The man continued to look at the two dust ridden travelers cautiously. "Sorry to bother you mister, but my horse here went lame about five miles back and we've been walking ever since. We saw your ranch and were hoping you would allow us to stop and water and rest our horse a bit."

The man cocked his head to the side and could see the Bay was definitely favoring one leg. Mark standing a little behind Will remained silent, keenly aware that Lloyd was in earshot.

The man stared at Will and Mark for a few more moments. Then apparently deciding they were harmless, let the rifle down, and set it against a stump. Extending his hand, he apologized, "Sorry, can never can be too careful out here."

"I understand, sir."

"Who's there Pa?" a young woman's voice called out.

"We've got visitors Sarah."

"Oh?" The woman stepped out of the house onto the porch. Will hadn't gotten much more than a glance of her earlier on the hillside when Lloyd had been staking out the place, but up close he could see that she was younger than he thought, closer to his own age. She was slimly built with brown hair tucked wispily in a bun, a few strands hanging about her oval face. The young woman looked curiously at the two dust ridden travelers through bright friendly brown eyes. "Why, hello there." Her voice was warm and pleasant.

Will felt Mark nudge him in the side and with some embarrassment Will realized he must have been gawking at her. He took off his hat and gave the young woman a little nod, "Hello, mame." The young woman smiled back. "Um….you sure have a nice place here."

"It's not much, but we call it home," the rancher replied. "Names Ed Bailey and this is my daughter Sarah."

"Please to meet ya. We don't get many visitors here."

"I'm Will and this is um….my little brother, Mark."

The woman smiled warmly back. "Nice to meet you, Mark." He nodded mechanically, smiling nervously back. A slight frown appeared on her face as she noticed their rather disheveled appearance and the dark circles around the young boy's eyes. "My, you both look plum worn out."

"Yes mame, we've been walking for quite a spell," Will said.

"Seems their horse went lame on them Sarah," Ed Bailey explained.

"Oh dear."

"There's a trough over by the corral. You're welcomed to water your horse there and I have some feed in the barn too."

"Thank you," Will replied. "Appreciate your kindness."

"By the looks of it both of you could do with a meal as well," Sarah remarked. "I'll be happy to fix you something. I was just about to go make lunch anyways." She looked down at the boy. "You like apple pie?"

"Yes, mame," Mark replied nervously.

"Well, you're in luck, I just took one out of the oven a little bit ago. Should be nice and cooled now."

Lloyd had just moved from behind the wagon. As the woman was about to turn towards the house, Will said hastily, "No." She stopped short and gave him a curious look and he added quickly. "I mean no thank you. We don't want you to go to any trouble, really."

"It's no trouble at all. We have plenty enough to share with a few tired strangers."

As Lloyd slowly approached the two from behind, Will tried to think quickly. "But, um…we don't have much money to pay for the meal."

The young woman looked indignant. "As if I would accept such a thing!"

Ed Bailey chuckled. "No use arguing with her son. My daughter has a very stubborn streak. Best just to accept the offer gracious like."

"Thank you then," Will finally said.

Sarah smiled back.

"Hold it right there," Lloyd said suddenly from behind.

Startled, Ed Bailey spun around to see a pistol pointed directly at him. Before he could react and retrieve his rifle, Lloyd already had him at a disadvantage. The rancher raised his hands in the air. A few seconds later, Sarah gasped as Roark and Briggs appeared from either side of the barn, guns drawn.

Realizing he had been tricked, the rancher shot Will a furious look. "What's going on here?" he demanded.

"No sudden moves mister and no one gets hurt" Lloyd turned to Will. "Get the rifle."

Will reluctantly retrieved the rifle, averting his eyes guiltily from the rancher and his daughter.

Motioning with his pistol, Lloyd forced them inside the house. "Sit down!" he ordered. The two retreated into a couple of winged back chairs near the fireplace.

Mark stood behind one of the tall straight back dining room chairs, with Will a few feet away. Briggs and Roark hovered near the door.

"What do you want?" Ed Bailey demanded calmly.

"We only need a few horses and some supplies. Cooperate and we'll leave you in peace." Turning he ordered Will to round up a few horses. He wanted two fresh mounts, one for him and one for the boy. They would make better time if the kid wasn't riding double.

"All right," Will nodded. "Come on Mark."

"No leave the kid here where I can keep an eye on him."

Will was forced to comply but gave Mark a re-assuring look before heading back outside. He was forced to squeeze past Roark's bulky frame who made no attempt to step aside. He glimpsed the look of cold amusement in the convict's eyes. Once Will left, Lloyd motioned Mark to sit down on the raised fireplace hearth which extended over to the far wall in the small living room.

Lloyd then walked around the room noticing the fixings for lunch already laid out on the wooden counter in the kitchen and the smell of fresh baked apple pie. "Mighty nice of you to offer to feed us mame."

"We certainly will not!" Ed Bailey snapped.

"It's okay Pa. I don't mind," Sarah reassured her father. "We won't cause you any trouble, mister."

Lloyd jerked the gun indicating for Sarah to get up and move into the kitchen while the rancher was forced to remain in his seat. While she made cured meat sandwiches, Lloyd helped himself to a piece of pie. "Not bad, mame. My compliments."

Will returned just as she was finishing and told Lloyd he had two fresh horses pinned up in the corral. But the hand that Will had cut a earlier when he'd helped Mark get out of the tunnel was bleeding again, having split open when he caught the bandage on the metal latch to the corral.

Lloyd looked at Sarah. "Fix up that wound of his, then Will get some grub before you're out of luck!"

Sarah's mouth pinched in fury as Lloyd settled down at the table with Briggs and Roark who were already chowing down. The young woman grabbed some clean strips of cloth from a drawer nearby and tossed them defiantly on the counter as Will went over to the sink. He unwrapped the dirty rag from around his hand and pumped cold water over the top of it, cringing a bit as it stung.

"Looks a little infected if you ask me," she remarked caustically.

"It'll be fine" Will replied thinly. He cleaned the wound out as best as he could aware of the young woman's defensive stance. Finally, Will offered an awkward apology. "I'm sorry I had to trick you and your pa. It was necessary."

Sarah looked at him oddly. Will took one of the clean strips of cloth and awkwardly tried to redress the wound.

"It will never stay on like that!"

"It'll be alright, mame. I don't want to trouble you."

Sarah scoffed. "Well you've already done that now haven't you?" Will couldn't help the guilty flush that crept up his face. Sarah let out an angry huff. "Hold still, I'll do it," she said grudgingly, grabbing his hand.

Will looked up a little startled by her offer but didn't protest as she applied some ointment and redressed the wound. It felt a lot better.

"Thank you." Will bit his lip. "Can I ask you one more favor?" Sarah gave him a heated glare. "Would you mind seeing if you can get the boy to eat? He could use a square meal."

Sarah's face quickly lost its anger. She looked over at Mark who was sitting quietly in the corner, his eyes starring absently at something on the little table nearby. "Yes of course," she said with compassion.

"Thank you. He's been through a lot."

Sarah made up a two more sandwiches. Will was surprised when she handed one to him with the faintest of a smile. She took the other one over to the boy along with a glass of milk and a piece of apple pie. "It's Mark right?"

Mark looked up startled. "Yes mame."

Sarah handed him a plate of food. "Mind if I join you?"

"Thank you, but I'm not very hungry."

She sat down next to him on the hearth. "I'm offended since I did go through all the trouble of making it for you. Besides, my pa says I make a very good apple pie," Sarah said teasingly.

Mark gave her a little smile. "All right." He took a bite of the pie. It was very tasty. As he ate, his eyes drifted off again to something on the little table and Sarah realized he was looking at an old photograph of her when she was about ten standing next to her father who looked very proper and handsome but with a much fuller head of hair than Ed Bailey sported nowadays. Sarah chuckled. "I tease my pa about that picture sometimes you know. Pa was always a bit proud of his full head of hair. Annoyed him no end when he started loosing it."

It took effort to swallow the last bite of food as Mark's thoughts again turned to his pa. He handed Sarah back the plate. "Thank you. I've had enough."

Sarah watched him quizzically seeing a deep sadness suddenly in his eyes and wondered what had caused it. She looked up and saw Will watching her from across the room.

Having finished his meal, Lloyd addressed the rancher. "We're going to need a few supplies. Where do you keep your stores?"

Still seated, Ed Bailey pointed indignantly to a small room in the back by the kitchen. Lloyd walked over and examined the contents. "Come here boy," Lloyd motioned to Mark who hesitated briefly, but got up and crossed the room. On Lloyd's instructions he took a couple of empty flour sacks and loaded them with some supplies. Once done, he followed Lloyd and Briggs outside to the barn while Will and Roark were left to keep an eye on Ed Bailey and his daughter.

While the rest were busy outside, Roark got up and started wandering about the room curiously riffling through drawers and opening cabinets, unconcerned with privacy. Ed Bailey compressed his mouth irritably. Roark finally came to a small wooden cabinet with glass doors on the upper half and spotted something of interest. He tried to open the door, but it was locked.

Jerking his head towards the rancher he ordered, "Open it!"

Ed Bailey slowly got up and crossed the room, retrieving a small key from a china cup on the shelf. Roark grabbed the key. In the very back was an unopened bottle of whiskey. Several items where in front of the bottle and Roark started carelessly tossing them aside in his quest to retrieve the bottle.

"Now see here," Ed Bailey fumed. "We've cooperated just fine, there's no need to destroy my things!"

Will stepped forward. "Lloyd said he didn't want any trouble, Roark."

"Well Lloyd ain't here right now is he?" Roark replied sarcastically, "And I'm certainly not taking orders from a punk kid either!" He pulled a little wooden box out with a fancy design on it. "What's this?"

"Please put that back," Sarah pleaded.

Roark held the little box between two fingers looking at the young woman. He opened it up and a soft little musical tune chimed out. "Well isn't that real pretty."

"It doesn't have any real value, just sentimental. It belonged to my mother."

"Just put it back Roark," Will demanded.

Roark smiled. "Whatever you say." He went to replace it on the shelf, but at the last second let it slip from his fingers. The little box fell to the floor landing on its side and the music died instantly. "Oops. Sorry it slipped."

"How dare you!" Ed Bailey fumed, finally having had enough and made a move towards Roark as he was reaching into the cabinet for the whiskey.

Roark swung back around and rammed his fist into Ed Bailey's stomach, then as the rancher doubled over, brought his pistol down hard on the man's head.

Ed Bailey slumped to the ground unconscious "No! Pa!" Sarah screamed, racing to her father's side.

Roark swung his pistol towards her, but Will sprang into action and careened into Roark grabbing his wrist holding the gun as he pushed the larger man hard against the wall. The gun went off shattering one of the front window panes out.

From the barn, they heard the shot. Lloyd cursed as he and Briggs raced towards the house leaving Mark alone in the barn.

Roark regained his footing and threw a right cross at Will. He ducked and spun about punching Roark hard in the side. Roark grunted and stumbled backward. He grabbed an oil lamp off the table and flung it at Will. It missed and shattered against the wall. Roark advanced but Will, being younger and a bit swifter, managed to land a punch to Roark's jaw, sending the convict into one of the winged back chairs just as Lloyd and Briggs burst into the room.

Lloyd immediately shot two rounds up in the air. "All right! Enough!" He looked at Roark who was laboriously trying to scramble to his feet.

"What's going on here?"

"He started Lloyd, I swear!" Will said breathing heavily while Sarah knelt by her father cradling his bleeding head.

"Kid's lying. The rancher tried to jump me!"

"That's not true. You goaded my father into it by deliberately destroying our things over a stupid bottle of whiskey! We've co-operated with you in every way. There was no need to pistol whip my father," Sarah said tearfully.

Lloyd let out a series of curses throwing the convict a furious glance. Kneeling down, he examined the rancher. "He'll be all right, he's just knocked out." He turned to Briggs and Will. "Grab him and take him outside."

"What are you going to do?" Sarah demanded.

"Don't worry, I just need to put you two somewhere were you're not going to interfere for a while. Take him out to the smoke shack."

Will and Briggs each grabbed one of the rancher's arms and carried him outside and across the compound. Sarah anxiously followed with Lloyd next to her, his pistol at her side.

Once they left, Roark grabbed the bottle of whisky and slumped into the chair choosing to stay behind to nurse his injured pride. It was the last time he was going to let that snot nosed brat get the better of him, Roark promised himself.

Opening the door to the smoke shack, they laid the rancher on the floor and Lloyd motioned Sarah inside. He shut the door and placed the wooden peg in the latch, then as an added precaution, wedged an axe against the door.

He turned to Briggs. "Are the horses ready?"

"Almost."

"Then get that sorry piece of horseflesh in the house and let's get moving!"

Briggs left but Will held back wanting to talk to his uncle.

"What is it now Will?" his uncle snapped impatiently.

"Well, I was thinking Lloyd, can't we just leave the kid here? I mean, he'll probably just slow us down anyway."

"The kid stays with us for now!"

"But I don't understand, you've got the money and already took care of his Pa and that marshal."

"I'm not taking any chances until we're out of this valley and into the mountains. Jasper Pass is about a five hour ride from here. Once were up to the top, any posse trying to follow us up will have a dozen and a half trails to pick from and hundred dead end canyons to dry gulch themselves in. After that I could care less what happens to the kid."

"But…"

Lloyd reeled on him and grabbed him by the shirt. "Listen up. Stay here if you want. I don't give a damn anymore, but the kid's coming with me, understand! I've had about enough of you AND Roark to last me a lifetime!" Lloyd released his nephew and stormed away.

Alone in the barn, Mark had heard the additional gunfire after Lloyd and Briggs ran back into the house and his heart once again filled with dread. Loud shouting had soon followed and several minutes later he saw Will and Briggs carrying a limp Mr. Bailey out with Sarah following, with what looked like blood staining her dress. Lloyd had directed the group across the compound out of sight.

Mark had turned away sickened and pounded his fist on one of the support beams. It was then he had noticed the black satchel leaning up against a bale of hay unattended. As he stared at it, Mark had suddenly been consumed with raw anger. They had killed his Pa, had killed Micah and now it looked like they had killed Mr. Bailey as well, and all for the satchel full of money lying at his feet. Blood money as his Pa might have said.

As he stared at the case, his hatred grew to the point that he just wanted to be able to lash back at them somehow, make them hurt as much as they had hurt him and everyone else. It was then he got an idea, a horribly reckless idea. Before he could reason himself out of it, Mark took one last look outside and then snatched the satchel, dragging it over to the feed barrel.

Unbuckling the leather straps, he took both cloth bags out. Eyes darting around the barn, he spotted an old barrel in the corner and untied the sacks then dumped the stacks of money inside. He then covered the money with several dirty rags, and further concealed the loot by stacking a few empty crates and some loose wood up against the barrel. Mark then raced back over to the feed bin, and using the scoop filled both sacks with grain until they approximated the weight of the money. He then shoved both sacks back into the satchel. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he tried to re-buckle the straps. It was then he heard Roark's argumentative voice approaching. Mark quickly replaced the satchel in its previous position just as Roark and Briggs rounded the corner and entered the barn.

Roark looked suspiciously at Mark standing next to the satchel. Mark's heart was pounding so hard he thought for sure both men could hear it.

"Get going Roark!" Briggs was saying.

"I'm not taking orders from any of you anymore!" Roark rounded back. "I'm taking my cut and getting out of here!" As Roark reached down to grab the satchel, Mark's face lost every vestige of color, suddenly realizing just what a foolish stunt he'd pulled. But luckily neither seemed to have noticed as Briggs grabbed the satchel before the convict could get his hands on it.

"Nothing doing, Roark. We split it up when Lloyd says so and not before. And with that last stunt you just pulled back there, don't be surprised if your cut gets negotiated!"

"What do you mean by that?" Roark demanded.

"It means you've been the biggest pain in my side from the beginning Roark," Lloyd suddenly said as he and Will joined them. "I would suggest you quit your bellyaching and get your sorry butt mounted before you get left behind with squat!"

"Now see here Lloyd!" Roark argued.

But Lloyd had drawn his gun and practically jabbed it into the convict's face. "Make your choice Roark, or I'll make it for you!"

The convict's eyes wavered and after a tense moment he backed down. Lloyd re-holstered his weapon and then tossed some canteens to Mark ordering him to refill them. Gratefully, Mark complied. A short while later, the five soon were mounted up and rode out.


	15. Chapter 14: Race to Jasper Pass

**Chapter 14: Race to Jasper Pass**

Lucas choked on the thick layer of dust as he slowly emerged from the rubble wincing painfully as he held his bruised side. Mark's split second warning before the blast went off had given Lucas just enough time to turn Razor about and drive him down the steep incline to a small outcropping of rocks that had shielded him from the worst of the avalanche.

Clutching his rifle, amazed he'd been able to hang onto it, he cautiously made his way over the debris back towards the bottom of the pass. Looking up he could see most of the switchback trail had been obliterated.

Movement off to the side caught his attention and a second later he noticed Broudy slowly making his way over several large rocks into the clearing below.

Lucas hurried over to him. "Where's Micah?" he demanded.

"I didn't stop to look back." Broudy replied sarcastically.

"We need to find him!"

"Find him yourself!" Broudy snapped as he limped painfully over to a large rock and leaned up against it rubbing his knee. Cursing, he tried to beat some of the dust off with his hat knowing Corbain had definitely won this round. As far as the Marshal was concerned, Broudy hoped Torrance was buried under a ton of rocks. It would be one less problem he'd have to deal with later.

Lucas angrily turned away from the bounty hunter and headed back up the slide, anxious to find Micah. A little while later he heard his name being called and found the old marshal stumbling to a standing position; he was clutching his right forearm.

"Micah!" Lucas rushed to his friend's aid.

"I'm all right, 'cept for my wrist," Micah grunted. "Think it's broke." Lucas examined it and nodded. "I'm afraid my horse faired a lot worse though." Micah nodded over to the fallen animal. It was dead, buried under several large rocks. "What about you?" he asked noticing how Lucas was clutching his side.

"I'm alright, just a couple of bruised ribs I think. Come on; let's get you down from here." Soon they joined Broudy and Lucas set about making a splint for Micah's wrist.

"Smart move McCain! They were waiting for us like sitting ducks!" the bountry hunter hissed.

"Can it Broudy!" Micah snapped back. "Lucas couldn't have possibly known they'd blast half the mountain top off."

"Well were in a hell of a fine mess right now though aren't we?" the bounty hunter replied sarcastically. "Banged up and stuck in the middle of nowhere."

Taking a spare shirt from his saddle bag, Lucas did his best to ignore Broudy as he made a sling for Micah's wrist. He then picked up his rifle. "What's done is done. And we're going to get nowhere sitting here complaining about our circumstances. I'm going to see if I can at least find out what happened to the rest of the horses."

While Lucas was gone, Micah sat down on a boulder nursing his wrist. He eyed the bounty hunter sharply. "That was a pretty brazen move even for Corbain to make, don't you think?" he commented.

Broudy looked up. "Yeah, well that's the kind of man he is."

"No. I think it's a little more than that."

"Oh? Well why don't you just enlighten me seeing we have nothing better to do at the moment?"

"Well I thought you could do some of that."

"And why would I know anything about what Corbain's thinking nowadays?"

"Well you claim to be an expert about Corbain and you've been tailing him a long time. His was desperate enough to suddenly want to get rid of us rather than just to evade us and I'm wondering if that had anything to do with what that crazy old prospector said about them finding something in that cave?"

"And how would I know anything about that?"

"Because, I think you know more about Corbain than you've been letting on."

Broudy spat a wad of silivia in the dirt. "Well, you can think whatever you like Marshal. I have no idea why Corbain went up there or what he was supposedly after. I'm just out for the bounty on Corbain head and a piece of his hide when I catch up to him. My guess is he's just tired of unwelcomed company knocking on his back door step." With that Broudy hobbled off.

An hour or so later, Lucas returned. He was riding Razor and had the sorrel pony and Broudy's horse in tow. Miraculously, except for some minor cuts and bruises, the horses seemed to have faired better than the rest of them. While he was out he also managed to examine the rest of the trail. "The pass is completely blocked. We've got no choice. We'll have to backtrack and cut around," Lucas said gloomily.

"That's going to take us hours!" Broudy complained. "By then Corbain will probably be long gone."

Lucas glared down at the bounty hunter. "Then I suggest we get moving."

Indeed, by the time they had backtracked around and found another pass out of the little canyon the afternoon was fading into dusk. The trio continued on as long as they could but were eventually forced to make camp.

Over a low fire Micah and Lucas talked quietly. Broudy for the most part kept to himself and brooded bitterly, absently rubbing the scar on his cheek. He been hot on Corbain's trail for weeks now but time was running out. If Broudy's inner suspicions were right and Corbain made it up into those mountains he knew it would be near impossible to trail him and more than just the bounty would once again be out of his reach. He also had one other problem: Torrance. The marshal was proving to be more a nuisance each day and Broudy had no intention of letting the old lawman interfere with collecting his long overdue reward.

The next day, by midmorning, they had managed to pick up Corbain's trail again and eventually discovered where the outlaws had made their last camp. Though their progress was slow, they noticed Corbain wasn't being as careful to hide his tracks as he done previously perhaps confident they were no longer being tailed.

A few hours later they spotted a farmhouse in the distance and decided to veer off and see if they could water the horses. But Micah had another reason for the detour. He wanted to see if he could get a message wired over to Sheriff Bridges and some of the other local marshal's in the area. At this point in the game, Micah preferred to have as many eyes searching for Corbain as he could muster before the outlaw had a chance to disappear completely. Broudy tried to argue the point, but Micah refused to listen.

As they crested the rise and looked down at the farmhouse below though, something about the scene just didn't seem right. The front door of the farmhouse was left open wide, while an axe lay haphazardly in the dirt next to an unfinished pile of wood. No one seemed to be about. But it was a shattered out pane of glass in the front window which drew their suspicion.

Deciding it best to approach the compound with caution, the trio split up. Lucas headed towards the house while Micah and Broudy made their way towards the barn.

Once across the clearing, Lucas eased up along the side of the house, his rifle cocked and close to his side. Carefully he peered through one of the lace curtained windows. Inside he noticed several items scattered on the floor as well as what looked like the remains of a hurried meal on the table. Lucas listened intently for several seconds but no sound came from inside. Slowly he made his way around back keeping low and surveying the grove of trees around the perimeter of the farmhouse for any flicker of movement. He would be an easy target for someone hiding in the brush.

At the back door he positioned himself low and to the side as he cautiously tested the door knob. It was unlocked. Slowly he pushed it open letting it swing wide as he swung he rifle into position. But everything remained peaceful. Lucas stealthy entered staying low. On the floor in the living room he noticed a few smears of dried blood and he could smell the odor of kerosene from the shattered remains of a glass lamp on the other side of the room. Making as little noise as possibly, he quickly searched the rest of the house, but found it to be unoccupied.

Meanwhile Micah and Broudy made a search of the barn. The interior was silhouetted in dark shadows with cracks of dusty sunlight filtering through spaces in the wooden planks and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust. From their vantage they saw four stalls. Three were empty; the fourth had a large Bay inside. Broudy made his way over to the horse and noted that it was favoring one leg. He also knew that Corbain rode a Bay. Cautiously they made a thorough search of the barn but found it empty.

Exiting the barn, Micah headed around back while Broudy crossed over towards a small wooden shack not far away. It was then he heard a splintering noise and saw the wooden door shake.

Broudy released the peg and kicked the axe aside. The smoke house door burst open and Ed Bailey tumbled out onto the ground. The first thing the rancher saw was the scarred face stranger looming over him with pistol drawn. The rancher scrambled back against the smoke house eyes darting anxiously about for some sort of weapon before settling on the axe a few feet away.

"I wouldn't try it mister," Broudy warned.

From inside he heard another voice anxiously calling, "Pa!"

"Sarah stay inside!"

Just then a piece of cured meat came flying out the door hitting Broudy in the arm and knocking the gun out of his hand. It was just enough of a distraction for Ed Bailey to make a desperate dive for the axe, but the bounty hunter recovered quickly and rammed the toe of his boot into the rancher's stomach. Ed Bailey contorted in pain as Broudy kicked the axe away and retrieved his gun.

Suddenly Micah appeared between them and pushed Broudy's gun hand aside. "Put that dang thing away Broudy before someone gets hurt!" Whether by intent or accident, Broudy brought his elbow around jabbing it into Micah's injured wrist. The marshal grunted in pain.

Suddenly a single shot rang out and a bullet landed in the soft dirt a few feet from Broudy's foot. He turned around to see Lucas hurrying across the compound.

"Micah, you all right?" Lucas demanded.

Micah glared at Broudy. "I'm fine!" he said through gritted teeth.

"Fool tried to jump me, McCain," Broudy said jerking his head to the rancher.

"If anyone's a fool Broudy it's you for jumping in half-cocked and trigger happy! Now back off before I arrest you for assault and chain you to the nearest tree!" Micah turned to the rancher who managed to rise to his knees and was now looking as confused as all get out. "I apologize mister. If you can believe it, we're actually the good guys. I'm Marshal Torrance and this here is Lucas McCain," Micah explained pointing to Lucas.

Ed Bailey saw the Silver Star on Micah's chest but continued to eye the scarred man wearily. "What about him?"

"This is Jud Broudy, a slightly over-reactive bounty hunter riding with us."

Holding his sore stomach, Ed Bailey rose to his feet. "You can say that again."

"We're tailing a group of outlaws I believe you might have had the misfortune to meet."

Ed Bailey nodded. "Appears this has been my lucky day for strangers," the rancher replied dryly. "Sorry I thought you were with that last bunch."

"No need to apologize," Micah replied.

"Pa?" a tentative voice came from behind as a young woman emerged from the smoke house.

"It's okay Sarah." Ed Bailey made a quick introduction of himself and his daughter.

"Mighty fine throwing arm you got there young lady," Micah commented. "Never saw a man disarmed with a hunk of meat before." Broudy gave Micah a sour look. Sarah blushed slightly.

"These men have also taken my son," Lucas explained further.

"A young boy named Mark?" Sarah asked soberly.

"Yes. He was still with them?"

Sarah nodded.

"How long ago were they here?" Lucas asked urgently.

"A few hours ago maybe."

"Mind filling us in?" Micah asked.

"Sure, but do you mind if we go inside first? I got a knot the size of a robin's egg on my head and could use a stiff drink!" Once settled inside, Ed Bailey quickly relayed the events of earlier that day.

"You have any idea of where they were headed?"

"I'm sorry, but one of them knocked me out pretty good. I didn't come to until after they left."

"Marshal, I think I can help," Sarah replied. She went on to explain after being locked in the smoke house, she had overheard two of the outlaws talking. Though she couldn't make out most of the conversation, she did hear something about Jasper Pass.

"Are you sure that's what they said?" Micah asked.

Sarah nodded.

"Jasper Pass is about a five hour ride from here. It's the only pass for the next fifty miles that will take you up into the ridgeline routes and into the north canyons." Ed Bailey explained.

"We'll be hard pressed to find Corbain if he makes it through that pass and up into those mountains," Broudy replied. "He knows this area like the back of his hand. It will probably take weeks to track him down again."

"Then we'll just need to try and stop them before they have the chance." Lucas said.

"With fresh horses and couple hours lead, I don't see how Lucas," Micah surmised.

"I've got to at least try Micah," Lucas replied solemnly. The more time the outlaws had his son, the greater Lucas feared for the boy's safety.

It was then Ed Bailey interrupted. "Mr. McCain. I think I might have a solution." All eyes turned to the rancher. "The pass is a good four to five hour ride even with fresh horses and by then it'll be dark. I doubt they'll want to risk going through the pass after sunset, it would be too dangerous. They'll probably have to wait till morning."

Lucas thought hard. "Go on."

"Mr. McCain, there is another way into the pass that might save you some time." Ed Bailey went on to explain. He'd found it last winter on a hunting trip after the valley route had been blocked by heavy snows. Not far from his place there was a steep ridge trail that cut up the side of the mountain and let out on top of a mesa overlooking the canyon pass. It was a risky climb and rough on the horses, but passable. It could conceivably cut a couple hours off the ride. With luck it just might allow them to get ahead of the outlaws and wait until dawn for them to make their move.

The group of men listened with interest.

Bailey took out some paper drew a crude map. He showed how the outlaws would have to wind through the valley and around Jasper Point to get to the snake like canyon. He then showed them where they could cut over the mountain and where the route would intersect. In order to get up the pass, the outlaws would have to ride right by past them. If they left shortly, they just might make it to the mesa before dark.

It was the only feasible option they had left. Ed Bailey was able to supply the group with an additional fresh horse and a few supplies, so Lucas left Mark's sorrel pony behind. As they prepared to leave, Micah asked Ed Bailey if he were up to riding into town and sending a wire over to Sheriff Bridges in Willow Springs requesting additional men.

"That wasn't our deal," Broudy interjected.

But the Marshal was adamant knowing they were going to need help if Corbain's gang made it into the mountain wilderness. Ed Bailey agreed to ride out as soon as they left.

Micah struggled to mount his horse, encumbered by the sling and a broken wrist. When Lucas suggested Micah ride into town with Bailey, the old marshal vehemently spat back, "Nothing doing!" The last thing he was going to do was to leave Lucas to rely on Broudy for backup!

The bounty hunter gave Micah a twisted smile. "I would listen to him Marshal." Broudy replied. "Look at you. You're practically useless with that bum arm and will probably just slow us down anyway."

Micah threw the bounty hunter a sour look before grabbing the reins and turning his horse about.

Lucas eased up along side Micah. Looking at his friend with concern, he leaned over and said quietly. "I can handle Broudy, Micah."

Micah's head whipped up as fast as his Irish born temper. He already had enough of Broudy. He wasn't about to let Lucas talk him out of this as well. "Nothing doing, Lucas," he snapped. "I'm coming with you."

"Be reasonable."

But Micah just glared at him. "I am. You're not about to go after them without me. I may be old, but I'm not stupid. You need help Lucas and your damn well going take me with you, if nothing else but to keep an eye on this one," he said thumbing his finger at Broudy.

"Why Marshal, I'm flattered."

Micah snorted. "Save it!" Then turning to Lucas, "And I don't want to hear another word out of you either!"

Seeing Micah determination Lucas only nodded. "All right Micah."

Broudy sat in his saddle amused. "Suite yourselves, but if he lags behind don't expect me to wait for him!" Broudy said and to prove his point whipped his horse about and took off. Lucas and Micah quickly followed suite.

Ed Bailey had not been kidding about the trek over the ridge. It was an arduous climb. Several times, the men had to dismount and lead the horses up the steep incline on foot. At one point, Broudy's horse dislodged a stone as it tried to make it up the steep grade. It tumbled over the side, triggering a small avalanche of loose rocks, barely missing Micah just below. They cascaded and bounced over the edge into to the deep chasm below.

Broudy just smiled down at the marshal. If it had just been a few feet to the left, he wouldn't have to worry about Torrance anymore.

Micah was soon lagging behind the other two men. He had to stop several times just to catch his breath, the thinner mountain air not helping matters either. "I'm getting' too old for this," he muttered as he felt the sweat pouring down his back. But he forced himself to push on. He wasn't about to let Broudy too far out of his sight.

The sun was nearly down by the time they made it onto the top of the mesa. All three were winded and the horses were heavily lathered in sweat and near exhaustion. Leaving the horses, they set out on foot hiking along the edge of the crescent shaped mesa then followed a dirt incline down a ways until they had a clear view of the canyon below.

A slow moving creek bed wound through scrub brush and sycamores trees dotting the canyon bottom below. It emerged onto a wide clearing filled with sand and river rocks. Just beyond a terraced rock faced bend the sloping v-shaped, zig-zag trail known as Jasper Pass began.

The men stood vigil for quite some but all remained quiet. Soon the canyon bottom faded away into darkness as the last lingering rays of light dipped beyond the mountain peaks. Somewhere in the darkness below, Lucas' son was still out of reach.

With the sun down, the temperature began to drop as well, and the men retreated and made camp near the edge of the mesa to wait for dawn. They ate a cold supper of jerky and dried biscuits and kept the fire low while they talked about what they should do.

Their one advantage of course was the element of surprise, assuming of course the outlaws still thought they were all dead. Without the threat of anyone tailing them, Lucas hoped they would continue to keep their guard down a bit.

It was still a few hours before dawn when Micah relieved Lucas who'd been standing vigil on the edge of the mesa. The marshal was cradling his arm as crouched down next to Lucas.

"How's the wrist?"

"'To be honest, it's a might sore, but I'll survive. When this is all over, I think I'll be needing a long vacation."

"I'm worried about you, Micah." Lucas said flatly.

Micah shot him an irritable glance. "We've been through this before. I not going back. You need my help, what little I can provide at the moment."

"I can handle Broudy."

"And Corbain's men at the same time? Lucas you may be damn good with that rifle but you haven't got eyes in the back of your head. Put your pride aside and start thinking of the odds or you just might find yourself caught between Corbain's desperation and Broudy's greed. Just how good is that going to be to Mark?"

Lucas sighed. He knew Micah was right.

"Look, I'm not as prideful as you may think. I know perfectly well with this bum arm I'm probably of little help but I'm all you've got at the moment until Sheriff Bridges gets here with extra men. I'll back down then Lucas. But until then I'm coverin' your back."

"All right, Micah." He sighed. "Thanks."

"We'll get him back Lucas," Micah promised, squeezing his friend's shoulder.

Lucas nodded, rubbing his tired eyes. It had been days since he'd slept more than a few hours.

"Go get a few winks, I'll stay and keep watch."

"I'm all right Micah. I'll be dawn soon."

"I wasn't asking, Lucas boy. You'll be no good to Mark without your wits about you. You need sleep!"

Lucas knew Micah was right. "All right, maybe just for an hour."

Lucas returned to camp to find Broudy asleep in his bedroll. Tiredly he laid down near the low fire, resting his head against his saddle. His eyes felt like sandpaper and he closed them only intending to rest for a short while.

Sometime later he was jerked awake. Instinctively he grabbed his rifle as he sat up. But all was quiet. He looked around and discovered Broudy's bedroll was empty. The bounty hunter had disappeared!

The sky was now much lighter and streaked in gold as Lucas made his way over to where Micah was still standing guard. He knew something was up by the look of irritation on Lucas' face.

"Broudy's gone!" Lucas said without preamble.

Micah spat. "Dang fool idiot! What does he think he's gonna accomplish on his own?" He should have known Broudy would try and pull a stupid stunt like this from the moment Micah had decided to call up a posse. Broudy wasn't one who liked to share the spoils with anyone.

Unfortunately they couldn't worry about that now, for just then in the early morning light a group of riders emerged from the forest of scrub trees below following the winding creek bed. They were riding single file and from his vantage point Lucas could just make out the outline of Mark's small frame.

"Come on, we don't have time to waste. If Broudy intends to take Corbain alone Mark's likely to end up in the middle of a crossfire," Lucas was furious. If anything happened to his son from Broudy's stupidity he'd see the bounty hunter in fire and brimstone personally!


	16. Chapter 15: Standoff

**Chapter15: Standoff**

The outlaws rounded Jasper Point at dawn following the river bottom as it snaked through the canyon. They crossed back and forth across sandy streams and cobblestone creek beds, avoiding the faster moving currents. The canyon bottom alternated between narrow passages and broader meadows filled with cottonwoods, sycamore trees and scrub brush.

At times the canyon bluffs towered above them with craggy rock faced sides and natural caves eroded into the sides. At one time these caves made ideal shelters for the local Indians during the hunting season and, although most of the Apaches had been relocated to reservations in the Arizona territory, a few bands of renegades were still use known to canyons such as theses to hide out in. The mountain wilderness of New Mexico was still an area to be both wary and respectful of.

As the four riders neared the base of the pass, the canyon bottom widened out into a large oval shaped clearing with a sandy rise running above the rocky slow moving creek. To the left the walls shot upward about thirty feet onto a series elongated terraces and rocky overhangs. To the right, across the creek, thickets of scrub brush gave way to a sloping hillside that angled upwards towards a moon shaped mesa.

Lloyd brought the group to a halt, "Jasper Pass is about a quarter mile ahead, just around that bend of rocks."

Will sat poised on his horse, looking at Mark at few feet away. "I'm sorry Lloyd but this is a far as I'm going."

As Lloyd turned his horse about, Will drew his gun. His uncle glared hardly at his nephew. "What's this about?"

"This is where we part company Lloyd," Will said with more determination in his voice than he'd ever had before. "Mark get behind me," Will ordered. Mark nervously glanced at the rest of the outlaws, then silently complied. "You've got the money now," Will went on, "and a clean escape route. All I want is the boy."

Roark sneered. "What I tell you Lloyd! Didn't I say he'd turn on you one day?"

"So you did Roark," Lloyd replied with a tone of disappointment. He regarded his nephew intently. "And what if I say I'm not giving him up. He knows to much."

Will cocked his gun, making Lloyd's left eyebrow arch. "This time I'm not giving you a choice. You don't need him anymore. Leave with the money. I promise I will keep the kid quiet and out of site until you're safely up the mountain. I'll owe you that much."

"And then what?" his uncle asked.

"I'll worry about that later."

"Don't be an idiot, Will. You're not thinking straight. Put the gun away," Lloyd ordered.

Will shook his head. "Not this time, Lloyd."

As Lloyd watched his nephew, he dropped his hand down to his thigh, but Will fired a warning shot that whizzed between his uncle and Briggs making the horses jerk. Lloyd's eyes narrowed into icy thin slits as he replaced his hand on the saddle horn.

"You would really shot me, Will, your own blood?"

Will tightened his grip on the pistol. "I don't want it to come to that, Lloyd, but I will if I have to. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to let you take him."

"So the kid got to you after all?"

Will shook his head again. "It was more of a matter of me getting the guts up to finally stand up to you. All these years that I used to idolize you and want to be just like you...but not anymore. You've changed Lloyd, or maybe I just finally quit kidding myself about you. Whatever the case, I'm quitting and the kid's coming with me."

"So you just want to walk away and do what, go straight?" Lloyd scoffed.

"I don't know," Will replied honestly.

"That's always been your problem, Will. You never think things through. You think after we killed those prison guards busting Roark out that a judge is just going to give you a little slap on the wrist? 

"I didn't kill anyone."

"You were with us, Will. Remember, you even insisted on coming instead of going up North with Duke and Elliot. That's all the law's going to care about."

"It doesn't matter any more Lloyd. I'll deal with that bridge when I come to it. I'm sorry, but I've made up my mind."

"Then you're a fool." Lloyd paused gazing hardly at his nephew for several tense seconds, but Will's grip on the gun did not waver. Finally he said, "All right Will. If that's the way you want it."

"You're just going to let him go?" Roark demanded. "Just like that?"

"Yeah, just like that," Lloyd said solemnly as he gazed at his nephew. The two seemed to come to a silent understanding.

"Come on Mark," Will said, starting to back his horse away slowly, keeping his pistol trained on the group. Lloyd made no move to stop him.

Suddenly a shot ripped through the tension in the air. Briggs reeled back in his saddle as he took the impact in his shoulder.

The outlaws looked up startled to see Broudy on a ledge above them. "Mind if I join the party?"

"It's a trap! Let's get out of here!" Roark shouted.

Suddenly all hell broke loose as several more shots rained down. Lloyd's horse was shot out from under him, the satchel landing a few feet away.

"Mar, get out of here!" Will shouted as he attempted to bring his horse about, but the animal reared up in a panic amid the gunfire and a second later, he felt an explosion of pain in his leg and toppled to the ground.

"Will," Marked screamed, jumping from his horse.

Briggs, injured, returned fire as Lloyd struggled to free his leg trapped under the fallen horse. Roark, seeing the satchel a few feet away, grabbed it and all three quickly scrambled for cover.

In the middle of the panicking horses, Mark crawled on all fours to Will laying exposed in the middle of the clearing. He was clutching his leg with one hand, grimacing against the pain. He looked up startled as Mark grabbed his other arm. A few more wild bullets whizzed past them and into the ground nearby.

"Mark, what do you think you're doing? Get out of here!" he ordered.

"I'm not leaving you!" Mark tried to drag him, but he was too heavy "Help me Will!"

Seeing the determined look in his eye, and with no time to argue with him about it, Will gritted his teeth and managed to get to one knee. Through the mayhem, they managed to crawl behind a group of rocks near the creek as the horses raced away in a panic.

Lloyd pressed himself up against the side of the canyon wall where it jutted out slightly, while Briggs ducked low behind a rock about five feet away, gripping his injured shoulder. Roark had dived behind the large twisted remains of a tree in the middle of the sandy clearing.

The gunfire suddenly ceased. A few seconds later they heard the bounty hunter shout down. "Give it up Corbain! I've got you and your men pinned down!"

Lloyd cursed. Just how many times was he going to have to try and kill that damn bounty hunter! "You're becoming quite the thorn in my side, Broudy."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Corbain. By the way, that was a nice trick with that avalanche but as you can see you didn't do such a good job."

"So, where are your buddies, McCain and the Marshal?"

"Oh…I expect they'll be along shortly. Right now I thought we could just have a friendly little chat first."

Mark eyes widened and he looked down at Will. "Pa is alive!" he said with disbelieve. It was then he noticed Will's hand was saturated in blood. "Will your leg!"

"It's all right. I don't think it's too bad," Will said, but Mark sensed he was lying.

"I think I'll pass. Your chats don't seem to fair well for the other guy."

"Oh, I think I might be able to persuade you all." Another shot came down from above ricocheting off the wall a foot above Lloyd's head. The outlaw leader ducked lower. From Broudy's angle he had an ideal vantage point into the clearing below. "Just a matter of time you know, before I get the right angle." A few minutes later another round came down, this time in front of Briggs. From his voice they could tell Broudy was moving around on the ledge above.

"See him?" Lloyd asked.

Briggs shook his head. "He's got the sun to his back. I can't see squat!"

Roark, trapped about fifteen feet away from Briggs behind the dead tree fired a few rounds back at Broudy, only to have a dead branch splinter near his left ear. He slumped down as low as he could get. "Do something Lloyd before he picks of off like flies!"

But Lloyd was already assessing the situation. To Briggs he said in a low voice. "I need to find a way up there."

Briggs nodded. "All right Broudy. You've got our attention," he shouted back up to the bounty hunter. "What's on your mind?"

"That's more like it. See Corbain, you should listen to your partner. Perhaps we can work out a deal?"

Lloyd pointed up to a section of rock that looked climbable. "What kind of a deal?" Briggs asked trying to keep the bounty hunter talking.

"Simple, give me Corbain and the money and I just might let the rest of you live."

As Broudy continued to taunt the outlaws, Mark tried to stop the bleeding in Will's leg by undoing his belt and tightening it around Will's upper thigh. He'd seen his Pa apply a tourniquet once before but he wasn't sure if he was quite doing it right. Will gritted his teeth against the pain. It was then he glimpsed something in the distance. Two riders were coming down off the mesa towards them!

He grabbed Mark by the shoulders. "Mark, look at me," Will said earnestly. "You've got to get yourself out of here!"

"No!" Mark argued. "I won't leave ya Will."

Will shook him hard. "Stop it and listen to me," he said forcefully. "There's no time to waste. You gotta chance to get out of here, and I'm not going to let you blow it, ya hear!" Mark stared back at him confused. Will swallowed hard. "Look, you told me once, that if there was a chance for you to make it back to your pa, you'd take it. You remember?" Mark nodded. There was a huge knot in his throat. "This is your chance. I just spotted two riders coming down off the mesa. It's gotta be your Pa and the Marshal. You've got to find them."

"Pa's here?" Mark asked in amazement

Will nodded.

"Come with me Will."

But Will shook his head, looking down at his wound. "I can't run with this leg. I'll only slow you down. You've gotta to go Mark, now, while Lloyd's distracted!"

"All right," Mark said nervously.

Will looked around, trying to think. Broudy was blocking the pass, while Lloyd and his men prevented Mark from going back the way they had come. He looked across the remaining distance of the creek bed. "Mark, do you think you can stay low and follow the creek bed over to that rocky hillside then double back around towards the mesa?"

"I think so."

"All right then. There's no time to waste, you better get going."

Mark gave him one last look. "Thank ya, Will, for everything."

Will nodded and gave a weak smile, "Just get going!"

Mark kept his head down low and took off. Will kept an eye on him until he was sure Mark was safely out of sight. Gritting his teeth, he craned his neck around the rock and scanned the clearing hoping to see where he had dropped his gun. He would need it if anyone tried to follow the kid. This time Will wasn't going to stand by and let another innocent person die if he could help it.

"Sorry, but I don't think so!" Lloyd shouted back up. At his signal, Briggs and Roark sent several rounds up into the rocks, forcing Broudy back. With the bounty hunter momentarily distracted, Lloyd started climbing.

Roark emptied his gun and ducked down to reload. That's when he noticed a peculiar sight. A bullet had rent a hole in the satchel and a small amount of grain was coming out the side.

"What the devil?" Roark opened the case and stuck his hand inside one of the cloth money bags, pulling out a handful of grain. "Horse feed!" he cursed dumping the sack completely out. He yanked opened the other bag to discovered the same. The money was gone. He'd been tricked!

So that was it! Lloyd had intended to double cross him all along. No wonder Lloyd hadn't wanted to split the money this morning, he'd been playing him for a fool, stringing him along all this time. He looked over the where Lloyd had already disappeared and Briggs was attempting to follow. Roark's twisted thoughts ran crazily together.

Lloyd knew full well the money wasn't in the satchel. He was going leave Roark to face them all alone while he took off!

And then another thought came to him. So that's why he wanted to keep the brat with them. Not to use him as leverage, as Lloyd had said, but to draw McCain out to kill him. He heard gunshots from the terrace above. But Lloyd hadn't bargained on the bounty hunter apparently. He then saw Briggs backing away from the clearing and his fury exploded.

"Dirty double crossers!" He fired at Briggs. The bullet hit him in the back and he fell to the ground.

Roark then looked across the clearing to where Will and the brat had run for cover. Suddenly he had his own agenda.

Will saw him coming and looked frantically around for anything he could use as a weapon and finally settled on a sturdy limb from a dead tree branch. Grimacing against the pain, Will managed to scoot himself further back behind the rocks and leveraged himself on one leg. As soon as Roark got close enough Will swung the branch with all his might. It struck the outlaw solidly in the chest. Roark fell backwards, his gun knocked from his hand, while the momentum from the swing made Will loose his balance and he fell to the ground.

With Roark momentarily dazed, Will awkwardly attempt retrieve the gun. But Roark recovered from the initial blow and realizing what Will was trying to do, raced for it. "Oh no you don't!"

Will made a dive for the gun. His felt his fingers closing over the gun butt, then gripped the handle and tried to swung his arm around. But before he could level the pistol, Roark was on top of him. Will fought with all his might knowing that he was making his last stand. But then Roark suddenly kneed him in his wounded leg. As the pain exploded in his thigh, the gun was wrenched from his hand and Will felt another stinging blow to his forehead as Roark struck him.

Roark grabbed him by the shirt. "Where is it?" he demanded. Will had no clue what he was talking about, but could see the raw crazed fury in the convict's eyes. "You think you and Lloyd can play me for a fool?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't act stupid with me. Where's the money!" Roark shook him hard. "Tell me!"

"I don't have it!"

"Don't play dumb with me. Lloyd had you switch the money, didn't he?! You, he and Briggs were going to have it all to yourselves!"

Will looked back at him in astonishment. "You're crazy! If the money's gone, I didn't have anything to do with it!"

"Then who?" he sneered menacingly.

It was then Roark spotted Mark climbing up the hillside. His eyes suddenly narrowed. The brat, of course! How stupid of him. At the farmhouse, he'd seen the kid standing by the satchel and he'd been alone in the barn while the rest of them where in the house! Will followed Roark's stare and a cold fear ran down his spine as he realized what Roark was thinking. "It was the brat then wasn't it?"

Will struggled against the convict's grip. "Leave while you can Roark. McCain and the Marshal will be here any second. I saw them coming down off the mesa."

But Roark suddenly had his own agenda. "Well it's not going to matter now because that brat is never going to reach his pa."

"No!" Will struggled desperately.

Roark jerked him upward and the next instant Will felt a hard blow to the side of his jaw. His head reeled back and slammed up against the rock. It was then Will knew he'd lost.


	17. Chapter 16: Convict's Agenda

**Chapter 16: Convict's Agenda**

Lucas and Micah were halfway down the mesa when they heard the initial gunfire. As they had feared, it looked like the bounty hunter had tried to ambush them alone.

Lucas urged Razor forward, "Come on Micah!"

"Dang fool idiot!" Micah spat. If the outlaws didn't take care of Broudy, Micah intended to.

As they reached the bottom and headed for the clearing, more gunfire erupted in rapid succession. Splitting up, Lucas headed through the thick scrub brush towards the rocky creek bed, while Micah circled around along the canyon wall.

Leaving his horse behind, Micah cautiously made his way around an outcropping of rocks. It was then he spotted Broudy's horse tethered near a narrow path which led upward towards the rocky terraces. From the ridge above, more gunfire went off. With the double barrel shot gun in hand, he made his way up as quickly as he could.

Meanwhile, the thick scrub brush was impeding Lucas' progress as he tried to make it down to the clearing. As he got closer, he saw two men struggling on the sandy shelf just above the rocky creek. One was struck down and the other quickly took off.

Leaving Razor behind, Lucas set out on foot the remaining distance. Keeping low he crossed the streambed and leapt onto the sandy rise where he approached the prone figure laying nearby. Turning him over, Lucas was startled to see how young the boy was. He was pale and motionless. Lucas check for a pulse then shook him.

Will opened his eyes to meet a pair of intense blue ones staring down at him. He swallowed hard. "Mr. McCain, I take it?"

Lucas nodded grimly looking down at the boy's leg which was saturated in blood. "You're hurt pretty bad son."

"Guess I got more than I bargained for," Will laughed weakly.

"My son, where is he?"

Will closed his eyes, his head swimming. "I'm sorry, never meant for this to happen… all my fault…Mark…"

Cold fear ran through him. Lucas gripped his rifle tightly. "What are you saying? What happened to my son?!"

Will struggled to remain conscious. "Trying to tell you…. saw you and the Marshal….thought Mark could get away. Roark…the money…." Will's eyes flew open again and he grabbed Lucas by the shirt with surprising strength. "Please Mr. McCain, hurry. Roark's gonna kill him!"

Lucas jerked. "Which way did they go?"

"Towards that hillside," Will pointed. "Tell… Mark…tell Mark I'm sorry… I really liked him… He's a good kid." His hand dropped weakly back.

"I will, son." Lucas got up and hurriedly left.

With some difficulty, Micah managed to make his way up the rocky path and onto one the terrace like ledges. On the ground nearby, he found several spent shell casings. Peering over the edge, he could see the clearing below. Broudy must have ambushed the riders from here. From his vantage point he saw two men lying prone. Neither was moving. Lucas was no where to be seen.

Backtracking, he headed further along the spiny crest where pillars of rock and natural crevices seem to offer numerous niches to hide. Micah had a bad feeling about this. A few minutes later he suddenly spotted movement up ahead.

One of the outlaws was cautiously retreating back down the path, his attention drawn to the direction he had just come from and heading directly towards Micah.

Alone and with one useless arm, Micah retreated into a niche between the rocks. He thought quickly. Setting the shotgun down, he withdrew his pistol and filled the chamber with his remaining few rounds. Watching the trail, Micah cocked the hammer before tucking it into his sling so that the barrel rested across his forearm. Then he picked up the shotgun and waited.

As the outlaw drew closer, Micah and rose from his hiding place. "Hold it right there!" Corbain looked up in surprise to see the double barrel shotgun pointed directly at him. "Drop your gun, mister." Corbain regarded the injured old marshal coolly, but made no move to comply. "I'd advise you to do as I say. I can guarantee you at this close a range a double barreled shotgun can leave a mighty nasty hole."

"You're probably right about that, Marshal," Corbain replied, reluctantly tossing the gun aside and raised his hands in the air. He cocked his head to the side. "So what now?"

"Now you're gonna tell me where the boy is."

"Would you believe me if I said I haven't the faintest idea."

"Not likely."

"Then I guess we're at a stand off."

"I'm not in the mood for any games, mister!" Micah said impatiently.

"Neither am I." Corbain laughed ironically. "I haven't got him. When the shooting started, the kid ducked for cover. He's probably back with his daddy by now."

Micah eyed the outlaw slowly. "For your sake, he better be." He jerked the shotgun at Corbain. "Now get moving."

Corbain glanced at the marshal's arm in the sling, gauging his opponent. "You really think you can take me in old man?"

"I aim to or we'll both die trying, son, I guarantee it! Now, keep your hands where I can see them, and start walking." Micah kept a close eye on Corbain as he slowly moved passed and started back down the trail.

They were about half way back when Micah was suddenly slammed up against the rocks from behind and felt a blazing pain through his forehead. He slumped to the ground.

Broudy stood over him. "Sorry, Marshal. But as I told you before, Corbain is mine."

Meanwhile, Lucas had spotted Mark making his was up the rocky hillside towards the mesa. He shouted to his son.

Mark turned at the sound and saw Lucas below still some distance away. His heart leapt with joy. "Pa!" he said excitedly.

Lucas quickly headed for his son. Mark turned to make his way back down when a bullet suddenly ricocheted off the rocks a few feet away. Startled, Mark suddenly lost his balance and before he could catch himself, slide several feet down. He jerked to a stop and let out of cry of pain as his right boot slipped into a crevice. Lucas' heart nearly stopped as he watched his son fall. For a moment Mark lay stunned, unable to move. Then, grabbing a hold of a nearby rock, he tried to leverage himself back out but his foot was wedged in tight.

"Mark, hold on son!"

As Lucas made his way up the incline he spotted Roark further ahead in between the rocks closing in on Mark from a slightly different direction.

Roark smiled as he saw Mark struggling to free himself. "No where to run now, aye brat!" Less than ten yards away, the crazed convict leveled his gun on a rock. This time, he wouldn't miss.

Lucas spotted Roark's hand extending outward from between two boulders. Without hesitation, he brought the rifle up and fired. Roark screamed in pain as the gun flew out of his hand.

Mark heard the rifle fire, followed by Roark's agonized cry and looked below to find the convict bent over clutching his bleeding hand. When he looked up, his face was contorted in rage. Mark searched the hillside for his father, but couldn't see him. "Pa! Pa! Where are ya?"

Clutching his mangled hand, Roark started advancing again. Frantically, Mark tried to free himself and in the process dislodged a couple of loose rocks nearby which tumbled down on top of the convict. It gave Mark an idea. He started pitching whatever rocks he could reach and work free down the hill.

Growling as another rock bounced past him, Roark veered to the side and started climbing parallel to Mark until he was now above him. He sneered down at the brat as he moved closer.

Lucas was fast approaching, but not before Roark had finally reached his son. "Thought you were pretty clever huh?! Well, your luck just ran out brat!" Roark awkwardly picked up a sizeable rock as Mark pressed himself against the hillside. He was trapped.

"You're gonna tell me where that money is kid or I'll bash this rock upside your head!"

"Leave that boy alone!" Lucas shouted, taking long scissor strides over the boulders. But he was still a good twenty yards away.

But Roark ignored him. He raised the rock high in the air. Mark covered his head and coward. Lucas saw Roark's intentions and did what was necessary to save his son.

Mark heard the rifle go off. He opened his eyes to see Roark standing before him as if frozen, his arm still raised. His eyes held a look of surprised shock as the rock fell harmlessly from his hand. Then, as if in slow motion, the outlaw teetered forward then toppled down the hill until he lay motionless at the bottom. He would not be getting up again.

Mark turned his head away from the sight.

Lucas quickly covered the remaining distance. Kneeling before his son, he grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Mark!"

Mark turned and raised his face to his father, his brown eyes wide.

"Pa," Mark said in amazement. He gripped Lucas' shirt wanting to make sure he was real. "Oh, Pa," Mark repeated. He threw his arms around his father's neck and hung on tight. Tears came to his eyes, but Mark made no effort this time to hold them back. They were tears of joy and relief. His ordeal was over and he was once again back with his father.

Lucas held his son close, his throat working hard.

"I knew you'd find me, Pa. I knew ya would." Mark said as he buried his face against his father's neck. Mark could feel the rough texture of several days grow of whiskers scraping his skin but he didn't care.

Slowly, Lucas pushed his son away and held him gently by the shoulders. Mark was scratched and bruised and covered in dirt. "Thank God you're all right, son." Lucas said softly, his mouth thinned with emotion.

Mark smiled back at his father, noticing his weary eyes and the lines of worry etched deep on his face, yet the blue eyes gleamed back at him with heartfelt relief.

"Are you hurt, boy?"

"No, I don't think so, but I'm stuck Pa."

"Let's have a look." With a little effort, Lucas was able to free Mark's foot.

He winced a little as he tried to put weight on it. "I think I twisted my ankle."

"Let's get you down off this hill, son." Leaning on his father, Lucas assisted him down. They were nearly to the bottom when Lucas heard more gunfire coming from the top of the cliff. He feared Micah was up there alone. He helped Mark over to a shaded clearing. "Wait here son 'till I get back."

He nodded. "Be careful Pa."

Lucas gripped the rifle, took one last look at his son to make sure he was alright, and headed towards the pass.


	18. Chapter 17: Never Underestimate an Old F

**Chapter 17: Never Underestimate an Old Fool**

Broudy leveled his gun on Corbain, a slow twisted grin splitting his face. Micah was slumped against the rocks cradling his wrist and listening to the bounty hunter confront the outlaw leader. "I've been trailing you for months. I believe we've got a score to settle." The bounty hunter rubbed his scarred face.

"I knew I should have killed you in that desert two years ago when I had the chance," Lloyd replied. "So what are you waitin' on? You've got the advantage. Or did you think I was going beg?"

Broudy gripped the pistol and his mouth thinned. "Oh, no, you're not gonna get off that easy. I spent six months recovering from the bullet you left in my gut, and this little memento," he said rubbing the scar. "I've spent a lot of time thinking about you and I figure you owe me big time."

"Well, I'm getting a little bored with this conversation Broudy. What is it you want exactly?"

"For starters, I'll take the fifty thousand dollars you and the convict retrieved from the cave." Corbain's brow arched. "Didn't think I knew about that did you?"

"What are you talking about Broudy?" Micah asked, leveraging himself to a kneeling, cradling his arm.

"Careful Marshal," Broudy warned. "Wouldn't want you to have another accident. I guess it doesn't really make much difference if you know now. It was a pretty clever plan, I have to admit Corbain. Shall you tell him or should I?"

Corbain shrugged. "Seems to be your show."

Broudy merely smiled. "Five years ago Roark and Corbain planned to heist a cache of money hidden aboard an army supply wagon. Seems Corbain's gang was making it a little too unfriendly to ship it through the regular routes, so a big wig named Riley made a little deal with one of the lieutenants at the fort by the name of Parker to smuggle the money across the desert. Of course neither Parker nor Corbain had planned on a band of renegade Apaches to ruin things. That was a bit of bad timing," Broudy laughed.

"I remember hearing about that attack," Micah acknowledged. "Seven soldiers were killed and everything was burned down to the ground, but there was no mention of any money."

"No one was supposed to know about it. Rumor had it the money was destined for Mexico to support the revolution."

"Whatever the case, it sure sparked a whole mess of trouble with the army. As I recall, they brought in a whole company of soldiers to flush the renegades from the mountains. So how did you learn about this _secret_ shipment," Micah asked dryly.

"Well now, that's a very interesting story too Marshal." Broudy looked at Corbain. "Do you remember a low life by the name of Gessip?" Broudy asked the outlaw.

Lloyd merely shrugged.

"Well he remembers you, quite clearly. I trailed him on a bounty six mouths ago. Had a very interesting story to tell in exchange for his freedom. Too bad he met with an untimely accident though."

Broudy went onto explain. "Gessip was a solider at the fort and had learned about the cache shipment when he'd overheard a very private conversation in the storage room between Lieutenant Parker and a messenger that had arrived at the fort a few hours earlier. Gessip had been hiding in there trying to filch a few bottles of contraband whiskey when the two men had come in. Gessip was buddies with Roark and told him about the shipment.

Roark and Gessip knew they couldn't pull the job alone so Roark set up a deal with Corbain and his gang to help. Roark was already in deep trouble with Corbain over some bad gambling debts he couldn't pay off when the army started cracking down on his illegal Indian trading operation. It was only later, after the mess with the Apache ambush, did the army figure out Roark had been the front man for it all.

Gessip had arranged for Roark to be the scout the day the money was to be moved. Gessip was supposed to be one of the men on escort duty that day too, but managed to get himself locked up in the stockade for some minor infraction the night before, so Roark was left alone. The plan was for Roark to lead the supply wagon into a trap with Corbain and his mean waiting, but unfortunately the Apaches found them first.

Roark managed to grab the money and stash it before the army found him. Everyone else from the wagon was dead except for Lieutenant Parker who was missing. The Army thought he'd been taken and killed by the Indians. Then all hell broke loose. A short time later, Corbain and his men were forced to clear out of the area for good after two of his men were killed by an army patrol. A few days later, in the infirmary, Roark was arrested for the illegal Indian trading and sent to prison. When Roark killed a guard later and was being shipped to Galveston to be hung, Corbain must have thought this was probably the last chance he'd get to retrieve the money."

"So why are you telling me all this?"

"It ain't gonna matter Marshal. You see, you're not gonna be around to tell anyone."

"Broudy, shoot me down and you'll only be buying yourself a rope."

The bounty hunter gripped his gun tightly. "Oh, but you've got it all wrong. You see Marshal, the way I figure it, it's all gonna be in self defense."

"What do you mean?"

"It's easy. Corbain got the jump on you, and I had to take him out. All nice and legal. Meanwhile, I have fifty thousand dollars in lost money no one's going to go looking for."

"No one's going to buy that."

"Who's going to argue without witnesses?" He then turned to Corbain. "Now where's the money?"

Lloyd laughed. "If you're so smart, figure it out for yourself."

"Oh don't worry, I will. It can't be far."

Micah grimaced, hunched up against the rocks. Broudy laughed smugly. "Look at you. Nothing but a worn out old fool. You should have quit while you were ahead."

Micah had turned sideways resting his good shoulder against the rock, looking the epitome of an aged and useless lawman. He slid his good hand down along the edge of the sling cradling his wrist.

Broudy was smugly amused. Micah watched his eyes.

"So long, Marshal," Broudy said.

Just then Micah reached into the sling to where his pistol was hidden and pulled the trigger. As the bullet exploded through the sling he replied, "Never underestimate an old fool with nothing to loose."

The bullet slammed into Broudy's chest. The bounty hunter looked at the aged marshal in surprise before slumping lifeless against the rocks.

Corbain immediately dived for Broudy's gun. Micah fired but missed and then had to scramble for cover as Corbain returned fire. Micah found himself backed up onto a ledge behind a boulder. His boot heel dislodged several pebbles that fell over the edge. Micah looked down to see the thirty foot drop below. He was pinned. A bullet ricocheted off the rock next to him and he ducked.

"Nice trick back there Marshal, much obliged."

"Give it up, Corbain," the Marshal said.

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"You'll never get out of here!"

"From where I'm standing I would say I've got a better than even chance."

Seeing the Marshal trapped, Corbain pressed the advantage inching his way slowly towards him. Micah saw him coming and fired again, but the bullet hit harmlessly against the rocks. That's when Micah knew he was in big trouble as he opened the chamber of his gun. It was empty.

Micah knew the boulder would not provide him with cover for much longer. Corbain climbed up onto some nearby rocks, still keeping himself well concealed until he could get the Marshal in his sights. "Broudy was a fool to underestimate you. I won't be doing the same."

It was then Micah spotted movement from the ledge directly above where the outlaw was concealed. But for Lucas to gain the advantage, Micah knew he'd have to draw Corbain out into the open first. Thinking fast, he inched over to the other side of the rock. There was a five foot gap between this one and another smaller group a little further away. In order for Corbain to get a clean sight on Micah, he was hoping Corbain would be forced to move out from under the ledge. Micah dived for the other set of rocks. A bullet ricocheted within inches of his head.

Once behind the other group of rocks, Micah pulled the trigger to the empty chamber and waited. Corbain heard the empty click. He then pulled the trigger again.

Corbain smiled. "Out of bullets or another trick Marshal?"

Micah kept silent.

Corbain moved cautiously out from underneath the ledge though making sure he stayed low and out of sight of the Marshal. Lucas waited until he was in position, then jumped down. The two men crumbled to the ground in a heap of arms and legs. Corbain managed to get to his feet, but Lucas grabbed him from behind locking his arms around the outlaw's biceps.

Corbain struggled to break free slamming Lucas backwards against the rocks, then elbowed Lucas in his already bruised ribs. Lucas grunted and Corbain twisted free.

Lucas advanced again, tackling Corbain. The two rolled back and forth in the dirt. Both were big men, evenly matched. Corbain reached up and grabbed Lucas by the chin trying to push him away, while Lucas pressed the outlaw's shoulder's to the ground.

It was then Corbain's fingers felt the handle of Broudy's gun. Quickly he grabbed it and slammed it against Lucas' temple. Lucas managed to deflect it slightly, but it was enough for Corbain to push away and scramble to his feet. Corbain fired wildly, but Lucas rolled out of the way at the last second as the bullet impacted in the dirt.

Armed once again, Corbain headed down the path back towards the clearing, but Lucas was in hot pursuit. It was then he spotted Broudy's horse. Lloyd veered to the left and started crossing a sloping stretch of granite, but Lucas caught up with him a second later and tackled him. Both men tumbled off the rock and onto the clearing below.

Lucas landed awkwardly on his side, knocking the wind out of him. Corbain, less than ten feet away, rolled over and got to his feet, swinging the gun towards him.

Suddenly, from across the clearing, a single shot rang out. The impact hit Lloyd in the chest spinning him about. The outlaw went down.

Lucas looked up startled to see Will leaning on one knee about fifteen feet away balancing himself on one hand and holding a gun in the other. As he watched his uncle fall, Will dropped the pistol and collapsed.

Lucas rose slowly to his feet breathing heavily. Cautiously, he walked over to Corbain and checked for a pulse before approaching the younger outlaw.

Will was on his back, his face very pale. "My uncle…is he?" Lucas knelt down beside him and nodded. Will swallowed hard. "And Mark?" he said weakly.

"He's okay, thanks to you."

Will sighed in relief before his head lulled back limply, slipping back into unconsciousness.

It was then Lucas spotted Mark hobbling over to him. When he reached his Pa, Mark threw his arms around his waist.

"I'm all right son," Lucas reassured him.

He then looked down at Will. "Is he gonna make it?" Mark asked anxiously.

"I don't know son," Lucas replied honestly. "But we'll do our best."

A few minutes later, Micah joined him. "You all right, Lucas boy?"

"I am now," he said giving his son's shoulder a hearty squeeze. It was then he noticed the rather large hole in Micah's sling. Lucas poked his finger through it. He eyed the old marshal coyly. "That was my best shirt."

Micah smiled back. "I'll try to remember that the next time someone tries to retire me before my time."

Lucas tiredly raked his fingers threw his hair. "Come on Mark. I think it's time to go home."


	19. Chapter 18: Goodbyes

**Chapter 18: Goodbyes**

Things moved rather quickly after that. Soon after, Sheriff Bridges arrived from Willow Springs with several men. Micah quickly explained what happened. The sheriff sent one of his men back to town for the doctor and told him to meet them back at Ed Bailey's place. He and the remaining men stayed behind to take care of the unpleasant but necessary business.

It was late in the afternoon by the time they made it back to Ed Bailey's ranch. The doctor met them there. "Looks like I'm going to have my work cut out for me," he remarked as he looked at the battered and beaten group that entered.

While Mark anxiously waited for the doctor to look at Will, he told Lucas some of what had happened over the past several days. Lucas listened intently, making no moves to interrupt, his face grave.

After what seemed like a very long time, the doctor finally came out of the back room. Will had lost a lot of blood and was very weak but thought he'd eventually recover. He wouldn't be allowed to move him to town for several days though. With a little prodding from Sarah, Ed Bailey reluctantly agreed to let him stay, but insisted the sheriff leave a deputy behind to guard him. Micah would make the arrangements when the sheriff returned.

Mark asked to see Will, but the doctor wanted to check him over first. He sat impatiently as the doctor tended to his scraps and cuts then checked his ankle. It was sprained, but not seriously. "Can I go see Will now?" Mark asked.

The doctor nodded. "But only for a few minutes. He's pretty weak."

Mark hobbled into the back room with Lucas closely following. He made no attempt to stop him. He knew this was something Mark needed to do.

Will looked lifeless on the bed, pasty and pale. But at the sound of Mark's approach he opened his eyes and turned his head, as if expecting him. Lucas pulled up a chair for Mark to sit down, then stepped back near the door.

Mark didn't know quite where to begin. "I'm glad you're going to be all right Will." he said at last.

Will smiled weakly back. "That's what the doc tells me." He looked at the scraps and bruises on Mark's face. "Looks like you didn't fair much better."

"It's nothing."

Will looked over at Lucas. "You got quit a kid here, Mr. McCain."

"I know." Lucas replied proudly.

"What's gonna happen to ya now Will?" Mark asked.

"I don't know."

"That will have to be up to a judge, son." Lucas told his son softly.

"I know Pa, but Will saved my life!" he said desperately. "It should count for somethin'."

"Mark, come here," Will said quietly. Mark leaned closer. "Don't worry about me. Your pa's right. I've got a lot to pay for, but I'm willin' to face up to whatever lies ahead."

Mark looked solemnly down at his friend. Lucas knew Mark was facing one of those hard roads in life when things weren't always black and white.

"Listen Mark, whatever happens I'm not afraid anymore. I'm done running."

Mark nodded in understanding.

The doctor came in and ushered them out, telling them Will needed to rest.

By the time the doctor finished checking Micah's wrist and setting it, it was quite late. He closed his case and said he'd be by first thing in the morning. Lucas thanked him.

Sarah fixed them all a hearty meal then Ed Bailey set Mark and Lucas up for the night in the barn.

But Mark had difficulty sleeping that night and sat up with his father for quit a while talking. It was something they'd always been able to do. He continued to worry about Will and wished there was something he could do. Eventually Lucas promised he'd talk to Micah in the morning. Perhaps they could make arrangements to talk with the circuit judge and put in a favorable word on Will's behalf.

Mark was satisfied with this, but he insisted on being allowed to speak with the judge himself. He felt he owed Will that much. Lucas didn't argue the point.

Eventually Mark fell asleep and slept the first good sleep he had in days. As a matter of fact, he slept almost the entire next day as well. Lucas did not wake him.

While Mark slept, Lucas stopped into see Will.

"Mark told me all you did for him," Lucas finally broke the silence. "I'm grateful to you for saving his life, and mine."

Will fiddled with a loose thread on his blanket. "I know I've made a lot of mistakes, Mr. McCain," he began, then gave a little ironic smile. "Seems like that's all I've done my whole life. But for what it's worth, I'd like to try and make amends."

There was something about the young outlaw that reminded Lucas of himself in a lot of ways. "My son thinks you deserve a second chance."

"Do you think I've got a chance, Mr. McCain?"

"Depends on how much you want it, son. But I believe a man can change if it's really in his heart to do so."

"That's what Mark told me once. I can see why he looks up to you so much."

But Lucas shook his head. "I'm just a man that's been down a similar road. Sometimes it's not so easy to find the right way out."

"I'd like to give it a try anyway, Mr. McCain. I've already seen what the end of the other road looks like." He was thinking of his Uncle Lloyd and all that he'd become.

Lucas gave Will's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "For what it's worth, I think you'll make it son."

"Thanks, Mr. McCain."

Lucas nodded and left.

Later that day Lucas had a long talk with Micah. He valued the lawman's opinion. "Pretty brave kid to go up against the likes of that bunch. I expect Judge Thorpe might be open to a hearing. He's tough but fair."

The sheriff came by the next day. The posse had returned back to town. The sheriff showed Lucas and Micah the satchel he'd found.

Micah sifted the grain through his fingers perplexed. Lucas and Ed Bailey stood quietly by as Mark limped into the room. "Doesn't look much like fifty thousand dollars."

"We searched the whole area, Marshal. This is all we could find. What do you make of it?"

But Micah could only shake his head. It didn't make much sense. Twice in its history the money seemed to have vanished.

It was then Mark stepped forward. "I know where it is."

All four men turned their attention to Mark.

"What do you mean son?" Lucas asked.

"I'll show ya." Mark hobbled across the compound to the barn with the men following curiously behind. Once in the barn, Mark pointed to the wooden barrel in the corner.

Lucas removed the loosed items from around it, then removed the rags on top. He pulled out several stacks of bills.

Micah whistled. "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle."

"Why didn't you mention this before?" Micah asked.

Mark flushed a little embarrassed. "Sorry Micah, but after all that happened, I kinda just forgot."

Mark felt his father's gaze heavily upon him and looked to the ground. "I'm sorry Pa. I know it was a stupid thing to do but I thought they'd killed you and Micah with that avalanche and Mr. Bailey too. I just wanted to hurt them back some."

Lucas' mouth compressed into a thin angry line. Mark shifted his weight uneasily. Lucas read his son's thoughts and placed his hands gently on his shoulders. "That _was_ a mighty risky thing to do." He tipped his son's chin upward until Mark was staring at his father's face. "But I'm not angry with you, I'm just thankful you're all right."

Mark smiled and Lucas gave his son a hug.

The sheriff chuckled. "Pretty gutsy kid you've got there McCain."

Micah replied. "Didn't doubt it for a second. He's a McCain after all."

Lucas couldn't agree more.

Sheriff Bridges looked down at Mark grinning. "Well, it wouldn't surprise me any if there was a reward for the recovery of this money."

Mark's eyes widened. "Really?"

The sheriff nodded.

Then Mark thought for a minute. He turned to his father and asked if he could give the money to Will.

Lucas raised his brow in surprise. "Why son?"

"Will's gonna need a good lawyer," Mark said matter-of-factly. "It's all right, isn't it Pa? I mean, I owe him an awful lot."

Lucas had never been prouder of his son. As usual his son never thought of himself first.

"We'll talk about it some more later, okay?"

"Sure Pa."

The next day Lucas and Mark prepared to go home. Micah was staying behind a few days to wrap things up. He'd let Lucas know when the circuit judge would be back in town.

Mark said his goodbyes. Ed and Sarah Bailey had been most sympathetic and kind. Ed had even repaired Mark's frayed cinch on his saddle. He thanked him.

Then he went to see Will one last time. Sarah was in the room with him. She blushed slightly as Mark entered then picked up the tray of food and left.

Will was pale and still pretty weak, but he turned his head towards Mark as he approached the bed. There was an awkward few minutes of small talk before Mark told him he was heading home with his Pa.

"Thank ya for everything Will."

"If it hadn't been for me you would never been in this mess to begin with," Will replied solemnly.

"Ya know what I mean," Mark said wringing his hat in his hand. He wanted to let him know about Micah's decision to talk to the circuit judge to put in a favorable word.

Will stared at him for the longest time. "You never cease to amaze me kid. But I guess I could use all the help I can get now. Thanks Mark. The Marshal seems like a pretty fair man."

Mark agreed. "He is. That's why my Pa and he are such good friends."

There was a long silence.

Then suddenly Mark seemed to remember something. He dug into his jacket pocket. "I wanted to give ya somethin' else."

Will held up his hand. "You've given me more than enough already."

"But I want to," he insisted and pulled the snake charm Billy Whitefeather had made for him. Handing it to Will, he said, "It's not much, I know. But it's supposed to ward off evil spirits and bring good luck."

Will took the charm and held it in his hand.

"Thanks, Mark."

He shrugged. "I…I just wanted to give you something to remember me by."

Will smiled and curled his hand into a closed fist then pretended to give Mark a punch on the chin. "Kid, I don't reckon I'm gonna forget about you for quite some time. Kinda like havin' a pesky little brother around."

Mark laughed. Then his eyes became serious again. "I sure hope everything works out for ya."

"Don't you worry about me Mark, I'll survive. Who knows, maybe I'll even be able to visit you in North Fork one day"

"I'd like that," Mark said sincerely. He gripped his hat. "I…I guess I better be goin' Pa's waiting for me outside."

"So long Mark."

"Goodbye Will," he replied softly and quietly closed the door.

Lucas watched his son cross the compound towards the coral. He still had a limp and his step seemed a little heavier that it used to be. Mark had been forced to do a lot of growing up these last several days and Lucas worried it might have affected his son too greatly. He placed his hand reassuringly on Mark's shoulder. Mark looked up at his father. "Ready to go son?"

Mark nodded and mounted up. He patted Blue Boy on the neck. It felt good to be on top of the sorrel again.

Micah, with one arm in a sling, waved goodbye as Lucas and Mark headed home at last.

Lucas took the return trip without haste using the opportunity to spend time with his son. As they got closer to home he could see Mark's spirits begin to rise.

When they finally crested the last hill and saw their little ranch house below, Mark reined Blue Boy to a halt. He stared down at the small house intently.

"What is it son?"

Mark took his time in answering. "You know Pa that's the best sight I've seen in quite a spell," Mark said happily. He turned and smiled up at his father, laughter once again in his voice.

Lucas looked down at his son. "I couldn't agree more," he said softly.

Father and son rode down the last hill, together again.

Later that evening, Lucas quietly closed the bedroom door after checking on Mark. His son was fast asleep in his own bunk. Lucas crossed the room and set the oil lamp down on the small table next to his leather chair. He pulled out a cigar and lit it, then picked up a book and tried to read. But his eyes kept drifting across to the picture that sat on the table next to him.

Finally giving up the pretense of even trying to read, he set the book aside and picked up the silver frame. The brown eyes, the same ones he saw in his son everyday, looked back at him from the faded photograph.

Lucas took a slow drag on the cigar then blew the smoke gently into the air. He stared at the image for the longest time, a smile drifting across his mouth. When he finished his cigar he placed the photograph gently back on the table.

Lucas rose and stoked the embers of the fire one last time before turning in himself. In the soft gentle glow from the fire the image in the photograph flickered and seemed to smile in the quite little room Lucas called home.

THE END


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